Fight Club
by 0atis
Summary: Quinn paused and looked over at me as if I had asked the most ridiculous question in the whole world, "Why? Because life is broken and rotten, sometimes you have to just take the reins and pull it into a devastating nosedive to have any sense of control."
1. Wanna Fight?

**Fight Club**

* * *

**A/N:** WARNING! Before you begin, I feel I should stress that this story is indeed dark and deals (though mostly indirectly) with various forms of abuse. As always my ability to judge if it will be too much is hampered by me not being every person on the planet. In my opinion this story deals with serious issues as tactfully as possible while giving the matter it's due respect. However it isn't my desire to lure someone into reading this who doesn't want to so if you have a question about my admittedly vague warning you can always PM me for clarification. If the mention of abuse is a trigger, then this story isn't for you.

**TL;DR:** This story deals with rough subjects, but I don't think it's intolerable.

This fic exists assuming the movie of the same name does not.

* * *

"If you could fight anyone, real or fictional, who would it be?" Quinn asked in that know it all way she has. I could tell from her tone that she already knew her answer and was ready to judge mine, but I said the first thing that came to mind anyway.

"My mom," and I would, in a heartbeat… if, you know, I felt like getting laid out on the kitchen floor after inevitably failing to _attempt_ to hit her.

Quinn gave me an appalled look, "Your mom? All of history and fiction at your disposal and you choose your mom?"

I shrugged, "I don't want to fight anyone else. Who would you fight?"

"The Pope," she answered instantly.

It was such a Quinn answer, and the look on her face as she took a drag of her cigarette told me she was picturing it all in her pretty, little head.

I chuckled, taking the cigarette from her and filling my lungs before asking, "Because you're Christian or because I'm Catholic?" She was totally capable of being that petty.

"Neither," she took the cigarette back before I could take a second drag, "I just think it would be awesome to see everyone's face when I drop him."

"What if he drops you?" I laughed.

"Fuck you! If I can't take him down, then I deserve the public ass whopping."

"Hmm, well I guess if we exclude family, I don't know… Justin Bieber?"

Quinn groaned, "Come on, use your brain; he isn't even worth wasting this imagined opportunity on. What about William Shakespeare or Queen Elizabeth?"

"Which one?"

"Either!"

I thought that over, "Nah, beating up old people sounds more like your thing. You sure you don't want to change your answer to your parents?"

She certainly had enough reason to, as shitty as my life was I wouldn't trade with Quinn's for anything.

"Oh my God!" she snapped leaping to her feet from the sidewalk to the pavement of the parking lot, "This is not about parents, Santana, I mean if you could fight one person in all of time and space and have a chance at winning regardless of how big or powerful they are, who would it be?"

I quickly understood that this wasn't going to stop until I gave her a satisfactory answer, so I stopped and gave it some real thought, "Hercules. Taking him down would boost my street cred all the way up."

Like I thought that made her happy and she sat back down, though I think it was mostly because we were sitting in the only available shade while every other area was a hot, little slice of hell in the midday sun.

"Now you're thinking. But he would clean your clock."

"You said I would have a chance, so I assumed this fictional fight came with some upgrades."

"It does, but you still suck at fighting."

My eyebrow quirked up, "Excuse me?" This coming from the girl who had participated in exactly zero fights in the many years I have known her.

"You heard," she said before tossing her cigarette onto the asphalt, standing and stepping back out into the blistering heat.

She stood, just squinting up at the sun for reasons I wouldn't even want to try and figure out. After she had achieved whatever the hell it was that she wanted from that action she looked at me and an all too familiar devilish smile flashed onto her face.

"We have to get back to class, but do you want a quick fuck before that?"

Quinn was the only person who knew I was gay and I think the knowledge gave her some sick sort of pleasure. I don't think she's a lesbian or even bi, I think she likes the control sex gives her and since she is my only chance for real release it's twice as appealing to her to make offers like this. Even though 'quick fuck' usually translates to me going down on her in the janitor's closet, leaving me strung out until she gets around to having mercy after school.

"I dunno, I guess," I said, because I really wasn't in the mood to be teased for the rest of the day.

She gave me a honey-sweet smile and got way too close for a public encounter as she placed her hand inappropriately high on my thigh. Something that was especially so since I was in my Cheerio's uniform.

"I promise to make you come hard."

The thing about Quinn is she is an incredible beauty; her hair, her eyes, her smile, everything about her is gorgeous. She is everything television has ever told me to look for in an attractive female. Well, what it tells males to look for anyway. But I find her beautiful in the same way I find things beautiful, like a painting or a vase, because on the inside she is this incomprehensible jumble of What the Fuck. I never know what's happening in her head, but it always seems to be something evil. However, the beauty of the outside balances out the ugliness within, actually it's more like 60/40 in favor of internal corruption, but whatever it is it's just right to make me accept her offer.

I stand without saying anything, which we both know to be a silent affirmation and start walking back towards the school. We had skipped third period and were going to make it back just in time for lunch, factoring in the quickie of course.

"We should fight," she said suddenly, displaying the unpredictability that was the most interesting and frustrating part of her.

"We always fight."

"No, I mean like fist fight."

"I thought you wanted to punch Gandhi?"

"The Pope, and we both know that isn't going to happen so let's fight each other."

And here she was dangling her fine ass off the crazy tree and asking me to climb up with her, "No, thanks."

"Come on, I think it would be fun. Besides you seem to think the Pope could take me down so what are you so scared of?"

"I'm horny, not angry."

"Bullshit, Lopez, you're always angry."

This was her trying to goad me, and I knew it, but I snapped at her anyway, "I don't want to fight! Keep running your mouth and I won't want to fuck either."

"Liar," she said confidently as she walked in front of me swaying her hips in just the right way and _knowing_ it would keep me following.

I hate her **so** much sometimes.

When she pulled me into the storage room in the gym I was a little surprised when she made good on her promise and started things off by roughly pulling my spanks down and burying three fingers deep inside me without any warning. I gasped and held onto her as she set the most furious pace she had ever used. It hurt a little, but it felt way better than the unpleasant scrape of her nails on tender flesh. Another first is her looking straight at me during, which is sort of a problem, because I liked it better the other way. She just held me to her, fucking me silly while looking me over with those beautiful, haunting, cryptic eyes.

"Do you think your mother would approve of you dyking out instead of being in class?" she asked suddenly.

What the fuck?

That was weird even for her, we never talk of each other's parents as an unspoken rule and she knew full well my mother would literally lose her mind if she found out, "Shut up." It was all I could say, because I could feel an epic orgasm building and I didn't want to ruin it by trying to figure her shit out.

"I'm surprised she hasn't found out by now, seeing as how I keep sending you home smelling like sex."

I decided from that point on to just ignore her words and concentrate on her fingers, but then she said the only name that could break through my calm.

"Surprised Brittany doesn't know either, especially since you follow her around all the time like a little, lost lesbian puppy trying to get a sniff of her twat."

_That_ was the last straw.

I shoved her off me so hard she stumbled back into a bunch of leftover bikes from a long gone Cheerios performance. For a long time we just stared at each other, her smiling wickedly and me breathing heavily.

She knew I had a ridiculous crush on Brittany Pierce, a girl I had met the year before as a freshman and who had stolen my heart right away. She was the antithesis to Quinn, the literal polar opposite. Where Quinn was a beautiful shell to cover a rotten interior, Brittany was love and innocence wrapped in kindness and compassion. She worked at a local burger place as a waitress, and if I could wish on a star and have the affection of any girl on the planet it would be her. We had spoken before and I had even discretely flirted a few times with positive results, but I was far too much of a coward to ask her out outright. She was a waitress after all and was more than likely being polite for her tip, and seeing how I always gave her more than the total sum of my meal it wasn't only likely, it was damn near factual. I have the worst crush on her obviously but am too scared to ask her to even hang out, my natural proclivity is to assume I will be rejected.

And Quinn knows that.

She also knew better than to mention it. To mention _her_.

At least she used to.

"Don't be mad, Santana, if she finds out about you and isn't down, I'm always here to give you a pity fuck," she said straightening her shirt and coming towards me again, but I gave her a warning glare and backed up.

However, she seemed to have a death wish as she kept coming, "Are you mad? Want to fight about it?" she asked with an amused smile and then it clicked.

Quinn had never dropped that insane fighting idea, she was still trying to sucker me into it. And though the idea of knocking her face in did appeal at the moment I didn't like playing into her mind games, so I pulled my spanks up, straightened my shirt and burst out of the room to go anywhere else in the world until the lunch bell rang.

* * *

"Are you still mad?" Quinn had the audacity to ask me ten minutes later when she found me sitting alone at the far end of the Cheerio's table.

"Yes."

"Wanna fight me?"

Yes. "No."

"Come on, I think we both need it. Hell, I bet half this school needs it."

"No," she pouted and I rolled my eyes, "Go tell Puck to punch you, he's enough of a dick to do it," I said pointing to the meathead in question at the far side of the room.

Quinn looked at him and for a moment seemed to consider the idea then shook her head, "No men, that's the first rule."

"'Cause he'll beat your ass like a red-headed step child."

"Size and muscle aren't everything in a fight, and no that isn't the reason. We need to let out our aggression, our pent up rage at this shithole world and most of that rage is caused by men. So no, I will not ask Noah. What sense would it make to have The Man beat us down literally and figuratively?"

I just _cannot_ stop myself from rolling my eyes again, "Quinn, my problems have nothing to do with men."

"Au contraire, your lack of attraction to men is your whole problem."

"Lower your voice," I growled, even though we were alone and she was already whispering my natural paranoia perceived it as screaming.

"I live in a male-dominated household which makes no sense since my dad is the only male."

"Quinn. I don't want to fight," I said deliberately, hoping she would drop it.

"Fine," she said and I didn't believe for a second that she actually had let it go, but I was glad to get her to shut up about it.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Quinn said softly.

I turned to look and saw Rachel Berry of all people walking through the cafeteria with her head held high and a bounce in her step. God knows why, Quinn made her life hell on earth. Okay, I did too, but because it was the only way to avoid being teased myself. It is literally as primal as having to rip her down so the other bitches know not to mess with me, the Cheerios only respond to survival of the fittest tactics. If I tell them to back off the girl, then they will sense weakness and begin to sniff out my idiosyncrasies and I do _not_ need that.

Quinn's whole demeanor lit up and I could actually see the demon in her stretch its wings. Watching her watch Rachel was always terrifying and it reminded me all over again why I let her be the alpha female in our relationship.

Crossing her would be way too dangerous.

"Ru! RuPaul, over here!" she called loudly, causing almost the whole cafeteria to fall silent, "Tell me, will you ever be coming to school as a man or are you trying to set the record for a drag queen spending the most time as the opposite gender?"

I didn't get it, I mean I get she was calling Rachel a drag queen, but I have no idea who RuPaul is. I bet the other Cheerios don't either, but they laugh uproariously and so does everyone else that had paused in their daily routine to listen.

Rachel goes red, but she never drops her head as she storms off and for a moment I'm so very jealous of her ability to do that. I know how deep Quinn can cut, she instinctually knows your biggest insecurity and strikes to the bone. I couldn't take that day after day and not lock myself in my room to never come out again.

With her gone I turn back to my plate, but a sudden and fast movement next to me draws my attention back to Quinn. She was lumping a bunch of food on her tray in a weird hill, and upon seeing my questioning look she smiled that wicked smile.

"One of her dad's is sick in the hospital, so she's been easier to tease than usual, I bet she's in the bathroom crying right now."

"So?" I asked still looking at her gross mixture of mystery meat brown, grey potatoes, and rock hard peas.

"So I'm going to give her something to really cry about," she said smiling wider before pouring the remainder of her milk on the top of the pile.

I could only watch as she lifted the tray in her hand like a waitress and winked, moving quickly and deftly to follow Rachel and disrupt her private breakdown.

If I were a stronger person I might try to stop her, but then I see the looks of approval coming from the drones in red and white and know that it's pointless to speculate. No one is that strong. It sickens me to know we're all the same, hiding our fear of it being us that she targets behind cold, uncaring eyes.

We suck.

I sigh and empty my tray, because I have lost my appetite.

For the rest of the day I am able to avoid Beelzebub in Blonde until it's time to go home. Since she's the only one with a car I usually ride to and from school with her, as I had this morning. Today I have had just about enough of her, but I know better than to try and avoid her. First of all, it's pointless, she knows where I live and every route I use to get home. Second, if I avoid her she will know exactly how much her behavior today got to me and that is information one should _never_ willingly give Quinn Fabray.

So I meet her by her damn convertible and slide into the passenger's side when it opens.

She didn't say anything once I was in, so I didn't either, until I noticed we weren't headed to my house.

"Where are we going?" I really didn't want to ask, but I couldn't help myself.

"To grab a burger. I'm hungry after I used my lunch to put that hobbit in her place," she smirked as she fished sunglasses out of the middle console and slipped them on. "God, you should have seen it. I was absolutely silent going in that bathroom and right at the height of her bawling I burst the door in and nail her _right_ in her ridiculous nose. We are talking orgasmic levels of satisfaction."

I was glad I couldn't see her eyes, because what was there would have put fear in mine and she would know it.

"That's what she gets, I guess," I said noncommittally.

"Don't be such a buzzkill, it was amazing," she huffed.

I was going to say something a bit more definite until I saw where we were headed.

It was a small diner call Burger Shack that only a few people knew about, because it was so secluded. Their food was excellent and the atmosphere was peaceful and the best thing about the whole place was the service… and all of a sudden I knew where this was truly headed.

And that it was going to be bad.

"You know I think I really should be getting home. I have a lot of homework to do-"

"Fine, I'll get something to go," she said coolly as she parked the car.

"Quinn, I will fuck you 'til you go blind if we can please not go in there," I was begging, it was a mistake and I was fully aware of that, but there were no other options.

I also knew that other's discomfort was more pleasurable to her than orgasms could ever be.

"Will you chillax? I just want a burger."

No, you want to humiliate me in front of the woman I would make my wife in a perfect world.

But I didn't say that. Instead I slid my somber ass out of the car and into the damn Burger Shack.

For a moment, a brief, shimmering moment, I thought she might not be working, but then I heard my name being called from behind me.

"Santana!" came the sweetest voice I had ever heard.

I turned and there was Brittany Pierce walking towards me in that adorable blue and white waitress outfit, her hair up in a ponytail and a coffee pot in one hand. She made old time truck stop waitress look sexy in a serious way.

"Hi, Britt," I wheezed out, because she had literally stolen my air.

She then did something she had never done before which was pull me into a tight, one-armed hug while she balanced the coffee behind her. I automatically returned it, awkwardly pulling us closer together to maximize our contact. It was friend-hug meets lover-who-returned-from-war hug. Then I top the whole horrific spectacle by blushing like a bitch.

"Hiya, Quinn," she added cheerfully to my dark overlord who was watching our exchange with a slight smirk.

"Hey, Britts." The reply was mocking, she used Brittany's same tone of voice without adjusting her features at all.

Of course Brittany was way too sweet to get that she was being made fun of and I wasn't about to point it out, but I did send Quinn a warning glare.

"Have a seat, you know where my section is," she said with a huge smile.

I opened my mouth to oblige, but of course Quinn opened her yap first, "I wish we could, but Santana here has lots of homework, so we can't stay," she said in a wounded tone one might use when breaking bad news to an infant. "I have only come for a burger, with the works, to go."

Even though the order was simple Brittany set the coffee down on the counter and took out her pad and pen to write it down, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Quinn shot me a look, pulling her glasses down to more easily transmit her 'Is she for real?' look. I ignored her and added a milkshake and fries to the order to justify her writing. I don't know why. Maybe because her being at the butt end of Quinn's bullshit bugged me.

"Okay, I'll have that up in a few minutes. Oh, duty calls, gotta go," she said seeing someone waving her down for a refill.

I watched her leave and the moment I turned around I saw Quinn's eyes on me. Actually, I only felt them as they were once again covered by her shades.

"She really is cute. Why don't you go for it? She seems like the type to go for a little carpet munching."

She was testing me again, we both knew why I didn't. She knew I didn't want to ruin things with Brittany and dragging the girl into this was going way, _way_ too far, "Leave her out of this."

"Out of what? I'm just saying it wouldn't be hard to tap that. Just tell her you want to borrow some of her lip gloss right off her lips and work from there."

"Quinn."

"Goodness, Santana, I know you are what you eat, but do you have to be _such_ a pussy?"

The only possible way to survive Quinn was to try and be one step ahead of her game, though it didn't always work I had to try. This time I got it, she was trying to make me angry again. Though at this point it would have given me great pleasure to haul off and hit her, playing into her plans, however immediately satisfying, was always detrimental in the long run.

"I don't care what you think, I'm fine with things as they are."

"Are you?" she asked, her eyebrows appearing from behind her shades. "So, like if some butch trucker chick came in here and looked like she might actually get a taste of her cherry pie, you wouldn't care?"

I would have an absolute meltdown. "She's free to do what she wants."

"So are you, that's my point. No one here knows you or your family. Your parents are almost never home so I would be happy to drive you two back to your place for a little bump and grind."

The sad part, the really extraordinarily pathetic part, was that this sounded good to me and my teenage hormones. Especially watching Brittany's legs pour out of her skirt as she bent across a table to show a customer something on the menu.

I realized that my arousal was showing in my eyes a tick too late, because before I could mask it again Quinn leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "And I have a brand new strap-on in my trunk. I was thinking we might have fun with it, but I'd be willing to let the two of you christen it first."

It was literally impossible not to picture myself strapped up taking Brittany against the table she was now wiping down and Quinn knew it. She knew she had me totally flustered and used my off state to make her next move.

When Brittany heard the bell ring to signal our order was ready she pranced over with our food, smiling brilliantly. Quinn returned the look and moved to accept the food pushing her glasses up on top of her head.

"You know, Brittany, I have been meaning to tell you this, but you are exceptionally beautiful," she said almost casually as she took the food and my shake from her hands, but not before letting her fingers brush Brittany's and linger in a tender way.

Brittany blushed at the compliment, "Thanks, Quinn, so are you."

"But not as pretty as you," she said in that smooth tone before she flicked her glasses back down and handed over a twenty dollar bill for an eight dollar meal, "Keep on being your perfect self."

Then she leaned over and kissed Brittany.

Now, I should point out it realistically was a quick peck on the cheek that could have easily been written off as friendly, however, with me in the middle of my fantasies of claiming the girl she may as well have tongued her tonsils.

She had put me in a disoriented state and made a move meant to infuriate me into action. Honestly, she would have made an excellent ruler in ancient China or something. Her ability to get into other's heads would have made her unstoppable as a wartime ruler. Though in times of peace when she had nowhere else to direct her wrath it was also what would make the people rise up against her tyrannical oppression… so maybe it was better that she was a cheerleader in Ohio.

For a blinding white second I almost punched her square in the face, _almost_. But then Brittany giggled and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Don't look so upset, Santana, I think you're pretty too."

Only Brittany's words kept me from laying Quinn out on the floor of the Burger Shack and from the disappointment on her face Quinn was aware as well.

With a sigh she gave me the food to carry and marched out the door throwing a, "Later, Brittany. Come on, Santana," over her shoulder.

I followed, but reluctantly, I really wanted to just walk home. The jig was up, she knew she had gotten to me, there was no need to pretend. However, walking away might tempt her to hit me with her car. So I got in and slammed the door shut.

She laughed at my semi-silent outburst, "Don't be mad I got a kiss before you. That's what happens when you wait around with people you like."

"Don't pretend like you are trying to help me! Drop the act, Q, I'm sick of it!"

I turned away from her to try not to focus on the sound of her mind working on how to push me a little further.

Whatever she decided she didn't act on it during the car ride. We made it to my house with neither of us saying a word and when I leapt out of the car and marched to my door, so glad to finally be home, I was surprised to see Quinn had followed me. I shouldn't have been, but I was.

"What?" I snapped knowing exactly what, she wasn't done with me yet.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I groaned and unlocked my door shoving it open for her to enter. The last time I said no to such a request she put a brick through my living room window and came in anyway. When I tried to explain to my parents that the crazy Fabray girl had done it Quinn had gotten twelve of the Cheerios to lie and say she had been with them all day.

When it came to Quinn sometimes it was easier to give in on some things.

"Almost forgot," she said before returning to the car.

Whatever she forgot I didn't give a shit about so I went upstairs and flopped down on my bed trying to let the stress leak out of my body. As it turned out that was impossible with Quinn in the vicinity.

The girl returned with both our book bags throwing mine on the floor, "Look at you, so eager to study you faggot your bag," she said with a giggle.

I sighed and shrugged, "You're losing your touch."

She sighed as well, "You're right, that was weak. Well, whatever, come here," she said as she flopped next to me with her bag in her hands.

I crawled over as she pulled a big brown box out, usually I would assume it was weed, but if it was she planned to get too baked to move ever again, "Wha-" was all I got out before she opened it and pulled out a large, pink dildo attached to a harness.

My mouth fell open.

Seeing my expression Quinn laughed, "What, you thought I was kidding earlier?"

"Yes," I gulped.

"Come on, get undressed so I can put it on you."

"Why do I have to wear it?" Not really a smart question. It implied I'd rather have the thing used on me and that was definitely not true.

"Because nothing beats a nice, strong cock," she replied, giggling at her own double entendre, "Even a fake one. I like the rod and you like parting lady curtains, it all works out. There is even a part here for your internal pleasure and a little clit stimulation."

As she wiggled the smaller insert at me I tried not to let my trepidation show, but I couldn't tell how well it was working, she was all smiles and they were all genuine. Whether genuinely 'amused' or genuinely 'evil' I couldn't tell.

"How did you even get this?"

"I blackmailed Becky into getting it for me with a picture of her sucking off some boy in the gym."

My mouth fell open again, "How did you get _that_?"

"Photoshop, and she knows it but she also knows the school would rather see her as a slut than believe the truth," she said it like she was explaining basic math.

This of course begged the question of how _Becky_ got the damn thing, but I figured it was better not to ask, "Whatever, I really do have homework, so you'll just have to work that one solo."

Here's the thing, I was incredibly curious about it and I really did want to use it. Not really on Quinn, but she was the only person offering. Though the earlier fantasy of that thing between Brittany's legs had left my libido revved way up, Quinn's behavior was like a cold shower and when I thought of all the ways she could use this to hurt me in some way I sobered up. Plus, I really did have homework.

I knew when I told her no that I had thrown down the gauntlet. Yes, it was easier to go along with her but this was me choosing my battle. It was a good place to make a stand, she could break into my house if I tried to keep her out, but there wasn't much she could do to make me wear a dildo and go to town on her.

Even she seemed to understand this as she tossed the apparatus back in its box and set it on the nightstand. That was Quinn's way of saying she was relenting _for now_ as it hadn't actually gone back in her bag.

"Fine then," she huffed.

Glad for a break from her constant badgering I went into my book bag and pulled out my chemistry book. I got out my pencil and notebook and had even managed to read the first question of my take-home quiz before music broke through my concentration.

Eyebrow quirked I looked up and saw Quinn looking back swaying slightly with the beat. The radio was playing some sensual tune from the R&B station, a choice clearly meant to get me in the mood. She extended her arms as an obvious invitation for me to join her, I simply shook my head and went back to my work.

I had _almost_ written all of the first answer when she said, "Santana, come dance with me."

"I'm working. You have homework too, you know."

She ignored me and moved closer, her fingers going into my hair and playing with the ends and making the strands dance with her, "Until the end of the song? Please? Then I promise I won't bother you anymore."

I looked up at her, "Really?"

"My word as Head Cheerio."

It's not like I believed her, but this way at least I wasn't guaranteed nonstop harassment until late into the night.

So I set my books aside and let her pull me behind her, Quinn wrapping my arms around her waist. And as she pulled my right hand under her shirt I groaned internally already knowing where this was headed. But she had me dead to rights.

I was sixteen, she was hot as hell and when my hand went under her bra I felt that previously suppressed arousal come back full force. I unintentionally moaned in her ear when she pushed her bottom back into me while bringing my left hand down to the hem of her skirt.

I wanted to pull my hand away, but teenage hormones are an outright bitch and instead of moving back to my homework as the music died I let her push my hand between her legs. When I felt how wet she was I made an almost desperate gasping sound as I pulled us closer and let my lips taste her skin.

And just like that I was back dangling on the end of her puppet strings.

She kept rubbing against me and even let me slip a finger inside her before she twirled magically from our entangled position and back to the bed picking up the brown box. I groaned and gave her an exasperated look and she gave me one that told me it was with the strap on or not at all. Having already been worked up quite severely three times that day, 'not at all' wasn't an option.

I let her buckle me in.

It was weird to watch her with such a serious look on her face as she fiddled with the straps, the dildo dangling in her face with every tug and adjustment. But nothing was funny when she pushed the insert inside me and gave a test tug before pulling the straps taught.

I didn't expect it to feel so good, but it did, it felt damn good and for some reason I felt this was just one more thing about myself to be ashamed of.

Quinn pulled her shirt and skirt off tossing them easily to the floor leaving her underwear for last, pulling them down slowly just to see my reaction. I don't know what I looked like but it must have pleased her, because it took her forever to get her panties off.

I still had my top on but either she wanted it on or didn't care when she pulled me on top of her, "Fuck me hard."

Her voice was full of arousal but was also cold and distant, not that I was going to ask what was wrong. Having never worked with a dildo of any kind I was a little lost as to how to position myself, but then she grabbed hold of it and lined the tip up with her opening. Wasting no time she placed her hands on my hips guiding me in.

She said she wanted it hard, so I didn't waste time going slow, I went at what I felt to be a fast and hard pace, but she seemed dissatisfied as she tugged at my hair.

"Harder," her eyes were almost all pupil and I felt like if I stared into them too deeply I might lose my soul.

I nodded and gripped the sheets as I pumped harder, but that wasn't enough either. Not that she said it, but it was the only reason I can think of that would make her start taunting me.

"Look at you, the perfect little Lima Lesbian fucking a girl in secret with the dick God forgot to give you."

"Shut up," I growled and tried to get lost in the sensations that were pulsing through me.

"Too scared to ask the girl next door out, too scared to even let her know you like her-"

"Shut up!" the shout was accented with a thrust so hard it made her teeth click, it didn't stop her from talking though.

"Kiss me, Santana," my eyes snapped open, because she had _never_ asked me to do that before, "Maybe when you do you'll taste her still on my lips."

She wanted rough, and with that statement I decided she was going to get it.

I did kiss her, but it was more teeth than lips and as I did I moved my hands from the bed to her hips using every last ounce of strength I had to drive us together with bruising force. My anger was only fueled by the fact that I was sure I could taste Brittany on her and all it did was bring back all my self loathing and shame at how right Quinn was.

I pounded her so hard the sound echoed in the room, I pulled her hips up to meet mine with my nails dug so deep into her buttocks I was sure I was breaking the skin. If she wanted rough, if she wanted me unhinged, then she got it. The intensity of it made me come hard and as the feeling made my muscles go rigid I refused to relent and let my pleasure manifest in a deep groan that started somewhere at my toes and traveled my whole body until I swallowed it behind teeth tearing into Quinn's soft lips. I moved even harder and when I felt her orgasm I still didn't slow down, I took everything. I bit her shoulders, breasts, neck anything as I only concerned myself with my own pleasure. The coppery taste of blood was filling my mouth as I kissed her again and with that replacing the mint and cherry flavor I associated with Brittany I was able to let my next orgasm be my last before I collapsed on the bed.

"Fuck college, Santana, you should do that for a living," Quinn panted.

That was a stroke to my ego that I allowed, because after today I had earned it.

* * *

When I woke I found that the strap on was gone and Quinn was next to my half naked body, fully dressed and doing her homework.

"Look who decided to wake up," she laughed.

I noticed how swollen her bottom lip was, and there was a little blood at the corner of her mouth. I really did not know how to feel about that until my brain reminded me of how she got that way and it settled on aroused. That made me get up and put clothes on.

Quinn pouted the whole time I got dressed, but I was honestly through with her for the day and wanted her gone.

"Hey, it's getting late, don't you think?" I asked hoping that she, for once, would make things easy for me.

"Yeah, but I told my mom I'd be home late."

"Quinn, I really want to be alone now."

"That'll be hard with your parents here."

My mouth went totally dry.

"What?"

"Your mom and dad, they came home almost an hour ago. Don't worry, I said hi."

My parents are never home. Like never ever home, which is why I can fuck a girl with a strap-on and not even close my bedroom door. To find that they made an unscheduled return is disturbing to say the least.

I immediately ran downstairs, really I did it to prove she was a liar, because there was no way, but when I tramped to the bottom of the stairs and saw them sitting on the couch watching Family Feud I suddenly couldn't remember why I came down.

"Well, hello sleepy head," my mom called over her shoulder, flashing me a smile, "Feeling better?"

I gave a confused stare and my father stood to his full height walking over to give me a once over, "Why didn't you call if you were ill? You know Lenard would have seen you for free at my clinic."

"I-"

"We didn't know what it was. Santana said it was likely a twenty four hour bug, so we decided to wait," Quinn said as she came downstairs as well.

My father looked down at me, "Next time call, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded before turning to go to the kitchen followed by my mother who also stopped to offer an acknowledging nod before moving on.

"Quinn, are you going to stay for dinner?" my mother called from the kitchen.

"I would lo-" I elbowed her in the ribs so hard she winced, "Ow- I mean I _would__,_ but I have to get home."

Mom poked her head around the door frame, "Alright then, thanks for taking care of Santana, she can be a bit silly where her health is concerned."

How the fuck would you know?

I made a show of escorting Quinn out the door and closed it firmly behind me before I rounded on her.

"What the _fuck_, Quinn?"

"What? I had to tell them something to keep them out of your room. Isn't it weird that telling them you were sick kept them _out_?"

It wasn't really. My parents were both doctors and made a living flying across the country and sometimes the world to perform special surgeries. Or something, I'm not really sure as they have never taken the time to really tell me why it is they can't be home. Their tight schedule means they can't really afford to get sick so whenever I am contact is minimal. On an average day they are usually all hugs and kisses, the gestures seem forced and uncomfortable for them, but they happen.

"It's not and you know it! You didn't have to tell them that, now they'll be avoiding me the whole time they're home!"

"Like you care. I thought you said you wanted to fight your mom anyway."

"It doesn't mean I don't love her too!" I whispered hotly.

"No, I don't think you do. I think you just want her love, that's why you're hiding the whole dyke thing, you think if you pull off straight everything will change. I have news for you, kid, they don't love you, they don't even like you and it has nothing to do with your sexual orientation."

My face was so hot with anger I was pretty sure it was evaporating the tears that were pooling in my eyes, "You don't know anything about them."

She lifted her hands in an exaggerated shrug, "Maybe not, but I know love when I see it and clearly you were meant to stay put with the rest of your siblings in a used condom. Don't get mad because you aren't the only one who can see your parent's don't give a shit about you."

And _that_ was the **last** straw.

I was on auto pilot as I moved in front of her and punched her as hard as I could in the face. I wasn't thinking about her mind games or how to avoid them or how too cool down. She had flipped a switch and it wasn't turning off.

When she tumbled to the ground I dove on top of her and followed the first strike with three more that made blood explode all over her face. I would have kept going, I would have punched her until I couldn't make a fist anymore, but she was laughing. As blood poured out of her broken nose and lip she was laughing so hard I thought she might choke. And as odd as that was it didn't stop me, what halted my fist mid strike was her eyes; they were insane. She was laughing and I could see pure, undiluted madness swirling in her hazel orbs.

* * *

A/N2: Thanks for giving me a chance if you made it this far XP Next chapter should be up relatively soon since its been done for like a year... I would also like to add a disclaimer that I don't necessarily agree with any of the thoughts or actions of any character I write, there will be definitive conclusions made that (IMO) are flat out wrong, but that's life.

I also have known the ending of this story for a long time so don't worry there is an endpoint I am working towards (aimless stories drive me nuts).

And in case you're wondering:

1) I do know the exact reason Quinn does everything she does, I may not reveal them all, but I do know.

2) Everyone actually exist. Quinn is not a figment of Santana's imagination.

3) No one will make soap...

Review if the mood strikes.


	2. New Blood

By Monday Quinn's face had mostly healed, but it was still pretty bad.

The official story was that she was assaulted at a stop light, in an attempted robbery, on her way home from my house. The rumor mill had a tale that involved Rachel Berry and brass knuckles.

For her part Quinn didn't give a shit. She strutted around the school like there wasn't a bandage on her nose or stitches on her lip. I would have felt bad if she hadn't deserved the hell out of it.

We hadn't talked over the weekend, but I knew we eventually would since she left her bag, and consequently _that_ box, over my house.

So when we were told to partner up and practice our verb conjugation in Spanish class, of course Quinn came over to me.

"So I'm thinking we can do every Friday."

"Pardon?" I had been concentrating on how to write with my hand still hurting from hitting her, and asked the question assuming I had heard incorrectly.

"Our club, every Friday."

"What club?"

"We are starting a fight club."

I must have stared at her a solid minute before I answered, "What in the mother fuck are you talking about?"

Quinn's eyes rolled up into her head in exasperation, "I want to start a fight club, for a select few girls in this school. You and I are the first members."

"You talked shit about my family and I knocked your face in. End of story."

"Uh-huh, now tell me it didn't feel good. No, tell me it didn't feel _great_."

"It-" It felt freeing and absolutely wonderful, "needed to be done, you don't ever know when to shut your mouth."

"Santana don't play this game with me, because I will win. You know that hitting me may have been the best feeling you've had in years and this includes the orgasms from the other night."

My eyes did their usual eaves-dropper scan before my voice automatically lowered and I moved closer, "I enjoy sex plenty, I do not need to beat up women to feel good."

She scoffed, "Who said anything about beating up? You know the difference between a boxing match and spousal abuse? Fighting back."

"And a ring and two _willing_ participants."

"We will have those things so by both our definitions this will not be beating someone up."

"Quinn-"

"Ladies," I looked up to see our teacher, Mr. Schuester, looking back with his 'stern' face. It was about as intimidating as a wet napkin. "I don't think your conversation has anything to do with conjugation."

Quinn took over right away, tears springing to her eyes so quickly it was startling, "Mr. Schuester, I've had a hard weekend. I was mugged and beaten for things I would have gladly given away. Coming back to school has been tough, I'm not asking for special treatment so much as a little leeway. Santana and I are off task, because I was asking if her father knew a good therapist."

Schuester's eyes became instantly serious as he knelt next to her, "Oh, Quinn, I heard and I want you to know I'm so sorry. If you want, Ms. Pillsbury would be more than willing to help, or offer recommendations," he said patting her hand to comfort her as she wiped away her big, fake crocodile tears.

He gave her hand a final squeeze before he stood and walked away. I was almost impressed.

"So Friday, I'm thinking your house in the basement."

"No," I said flatly. If my parents came home to this brand of bullshit they would flip.

I was lucky they didn't see me lay Quinn out before and as it was I already had enough to deal with.

"Then at the school after hours."

"There are cameras," I said.

I should point out I haven't realized yet that Quinn has sucked me into her ridiculous scheme.

"But no one manning them. They aren't even recording for later viewing, they're just around to make people think they are being watched. This school can't even afford a rent-a-cop for the day shift let alone the night."

"I guess."

"Good. At first it'll just be you and me, which is best. But it's on both of us to get new members."

And now it clicks.

"What? No, no, no, I'm not doing this."

"Santana," she said, and her voice was dangerous, "I said I don't want to argue. We can do it the easy way or the hard way, because you are a friend I am letting you chose easy. You know quite well I'm fine with either."

From anyone else that was an idle threat. From Quinn Fabray it was a promise of brain-killing mind rape.

"Alright. What time?"

* * *

That was the conversation that had me in the dark area between the woods and the back of the bleachers on the far side of the football field at seven o'clock at night.

"Okay. Hit me," Quinn said standing stock still, arms at her side.

She was wearing shorts and a tank top, which caused me to have the odd thought that it was possible for her to look human when outside of her uniform.

"I don't want to."

"Don't be a bitch. Hit me."

I already saw where this was going, she would start in on my life and parents until I was too mad to do anything else so rather than let that get cranked up I gave up resisting and took a swing.

That hit nothing but air.

I was allowed three seconds to try and figure out what happened before a fist connected solidly with my kidney making me drop to the ground.

For a horrible moment I thought I might pee myself, but after a second I gasped for air and was able to control my bladder.

"What the fuck!"

She hopped from one foot to the other inspecting her nails lazily, "You said you didn't want to beat girls up and I _told_ you there wouldn't be any of that. You swung, I dodged and counter struck."

I clambered to my feet, "Okay."

This time I aimed with intent to wound, but she ducked me again, this time I was ready and spun away from my position, not knowing where she would reappear. As I thought she had gotten behind me and was about to tag the same kidney. The knowledge that she may not be as new to fighting as she seemed scared me more than a little.

"You could really hurt someone like that you know," I said. Which was stupid, because I knew she knew.

"It's a fight, what do you want from me?"

A fight, huh?

So I fought. I grabbed a handful of dirt and chucked it right at her; that threw her off guard and I was able to tackle her to the ground. We tousled there for a while until I was able to pin her and land several solid strikes to her face, which succeeded in hurting my hand and breaking her nose again.

She tapped out and stood, blowing blood out of her nostrils as she did.

"New rule. No dirt."

"Oh, fuck you! You're just mad I got you. It's a fight, remember?"

She glared at me through her still watering eyes, "Okay, fine, dirt stays," she said before she launched herself on top of me.

As it turned out wrestling was my forte, because for a second time I had her on her back and was about to deliver the same punishment to her face when her eyes went wide with surprise.

"Brittany?"

I turned, shocked that the other girl had found us.

Of course I realized a second too late that I had fallen for a _stupid_ version of the _oldest_ trick in the book.

Quinn's fist cracked across my jaw and I could actually feel my brain jostle in my skull. I rolled away and slipped into a crouching stance, hoping the planet would hold still long enough for me to get my bearings.

Luckily it did in time for me to dodge the knee aimed at my face, but not enough to dodge the follow-up kick that caught me right in the back of the head.

As it turned out that was a good thing, because even though the kick left me splayed out in the dirt it had hurt Quinn's foot at least as bad so she hopped around for a bit before crumbling to the ground next to me cradling it.

"Okay, no dirt as long as you keep my personal life out of this."

She nodded, still nursing her foot, "Deal."

"And no more head or face strikes."

"Why not?" she asked, indignant.

"If we're going to do this we can't keep telling people we're getting robbed. I can hide everything else, but not my face. Besides I think that last kick might have brained my damage."

She laughed and pushed herself to her feet, "That's a decent point. Okay, no head strikes, no dirt, no personal stuff."

"Alrigh-"

Without any warning Quinn was on me trying to win the ground tousle, apparently it wasn't enough to dominate me on our feet she had to be better at grappling too. But she wasn't. I won every single time. Well… almost. Eventually she degraded it to sex which was totally awkward in the dirt especially since her nose had never really stopped bleeding.

After that romp we agreed that every fight must start with both fighters knowing that it is about to begin and sex is a valid form of fighting. That last part she just threw in to give herself a ground win and I let her, because I didn't give a shit.

The way I saw it we would get a few members who were stupid, crazy, or both and after the club grew either she would grow tired of it and quit or not care if I did.

I really should have known better.

But for some reason I never do.

* * *

"Hey Fabray," said Noah Puckerman obnoxiously as he sat next to Quinn wearing the sleaziest smile I had ever seen. "I'm throwing a party in a couple of weeks and I would love it if you and your ladies would come along."

Lunchtime was officially ruined by his presence. If knowing a boy could turn a girl gay then he is responsible for my current predicament. He was shallow, vain, and a bit of a moron, underneath it all I think he might be nice, but who can tell? All I know is though we have both known him for years Noah wouldn't invite us anywhere with him if we weren't his definition of fuckable.

It had been two weeks since Quinn and I had started our fight club and it was still just us. My arms hurt from grappling her and defending strikes and I was almost positive one of my kidneys had quit working. On the upside I had learned how to make a proper fist so now I could hold a pencil with little to no difficulty, Quinn's nose had finally returned to normal, though now her voice had more of a nasal quality, and the swelling in my jaw from her sucker punch had finally gone down.

I told my dad I ran into a door.

He had nodded and told me to be more careful.

When I looked at my face in the mirror and saw a clear outline of a fist I realized that it was going to be up to me to raise myself forever.

"We might be free," Quinn said flirtatiously.

"Awesome," he said giving a lame little fist pump before giving his meathead friends at the table across the way an obvious thumbs up. "Oh, and no need to bring dates, I will provide them for you."

"What happens if there are more girls than boys?" Quinn asked sweetly.

Puck wiggled his eyebrows like the three year old he was, "I'll handle any extras."

And then to my everlasting astonishment Rachel walked into the cafeteria. Why does she do this to herself?

Like it was scripted that freaky look comes over Quinn's face and she shouts, "Good try with the knee socks, Berry, but I can still see your man calves, and you should shave _past_ the knee if you're going to wear a skirt that short!"

Puck and the entire jock table burst out in uproarious laughter, I dutifully chuckled as well even though Rachel has nice legs and every inch is smooth. I know, I've looked.

We all expected her to clench her jaw and march off out of the lunch room before slinking back later, eyes red and puffy. Instead she rounds on Quinn and everyone is shocked.

"Do you honestly have nothing better to do with your day than think up lame insults to hurl at me?" Rachel snapped and the whole cafeteria went silent, "I mean you have all day and the best you can come up with is that I have man thighs and don't shave? That's the brainchild you've been working on? Clearly your AP literature class has been letting you get by on looks."

Quinn stood slowly and I could see the tempest swirling in her eyes. She was about to hurt Rachel very badly and not with her hands.

I was sorely tempted to tell the girl to run.

When they were toe to toe Quinn spoke, but in a low, soft voice. However, since the whole room had frozen to watch this standoff everyone caught every word.

"Actually, you repulsive, knee-high troglodyte, I don't think of you all day, I throw out whatever comes to mind whenever you trounce through here in the absurd costumes you call day clothes like you are a one man circus. The only reason you could possibly have to wear this same shit day after day and then proceed to travel within my line of sight is because you desperately want my attention and I was _trying_ to be nice in giving you what you obviously wanted. You would think with gay men running the show at home you would at least have a sense of fashion when you come here, but apparently a dick up the asshole doesn't give a lisp and a sense of style on contact. Or maybe it does, maybe your dads are fashionable and the sight of you leaving the house in argyle every morning is what put the black one in the hospital."

If it were possible to bleed from words Rachel would be bone dry. Quinn's words had hit every sore spot, every insecurity, every trigger she had.

Then Quinn proved she was on a roll, because, like with me, she had pushed the smaller girl too far. Rachel slapped her hard across the face and in an instant the cafeteria was in an uproar. Puck was on his feet, as were all the rest of the jocks, some forming a wall around Quinn and others shoving Rachel back.

The poor girl was pushed away and soon teachers descended; I know, just in time, right? And of course the story was about how Rachel yelled at Quinn, couldn't take her own medicine when Quinn responded and slapped her in a fit of unprovoked rage.

I didn't say anything. But we've already established I'm one of the mindless masses.

The weird thing was Quinn. She was totally unperturbed. If anything Rachel's outburst had surprised her and nothing more.

When she returned to her seat next to me she leaned over and whispered, "She should be our next recruit."

I looked at her like she had grown another nose in a different shape, size, and color, "Rachel Berry?"

She nodded, "I didn't think she'd ever man up and hit me, she has more spunk than I thought."

"So you think she's going to sign up for an afternoon of kidney shots from you?"

"I don't think it'll be that easy. I didn't even see that slap coming. Usually you can tell when someone is tensing for a move like that, but I got nothing."

And now I had a clue as to how she could continue to duck me every time we fought.

"Okay, so how do we get her to join? I don't think she's in the mood to talk to you right now."

"Not at all, that's why you will."

"Will what?" I asked hoping she wasn't implying what I knew she was.

"Get her to come. This Friday."

That was in two days. She was off her rocker.

"What makes you think she'd go for that?"

"Trust me. It's in her eyes."

I watched Mr. Schuester escort Rachel out while scolding her for her behavior as she fought to hold back tears.

"You really hurt her Quinn."

"I know it was a little harsh, but honestly have you _seen_ those sweaters?"

* * *

Friday came and I had yet to talk to Rachel, it was driving me crazy because if I showed up without her then Quinn was going to take it out on me, and my kidneys were already quivering. The problem was, I flat out didn't know how to approach her, though Quinn was her main antagonist I wasn't exactly innocent of throwing slurs her way, because, yes, I had seen her sweaters.

Regardless I needed her.

I hadn't really been searching when I found her, some of the hockey jocks were laughing as their team captain poured slushie on her head. And she stood there and took it, looking defeated.

After the laughter left with the jocks and the hall was mostly clear she opened her locker, pulled out a fresh hideous shirt sweater combo and slumped towards the bathroom.

I followed feeling like this was what Quinn would do, meaning it was probably inappropriate, but it would work.

The sound of the door opening made her jump. Understandable since she had just been assaulted and furthermore was topless in front of the mirror.

Which brings me to this point. Why in the fuck does she wear those sweaters? The girl had a killer rack set in the cutest little black bra. If we saw more of that and less of the knee highs and button downs she would be on every guys must-have list. Even I had to admit that I wanted to touch.

When I entered she instinctively pulled her ruined shirt over her chest, "If you've come to pour more slushie on me I will just put this back on. I only brought one spare set of clothes today."

I decide not to rib her about how stupid she was to admit that to the enemy and walked in to lean against the sink next to her slushie filled one.

"I'm not here for that. I want to make an offer."

"What kind of offer?" she asked even though she was obviously not convinced that this wasn't some sort of setup for more punishment.

"Tonight at seven, behind the bleachers at the far side of the football field, Quinn and I will be beating the living shit out of each other and we invite you to join us."

That may have not been the best way to introduce the idea, but why sugar coat it?

"What?"

"We started an exclusive, girls only, fight club. We want you to join."

"You want me to meet the two biggest bullies in this school in secret to get beat up?"

"If you're any good then you will be meeting the two biggest bullies in the school in secret to beat them up. One on one, no tag team. Tap out anytime if it's too much, think of it more as sparing with no padding."

"You must really think I'm stupid," she sighed as she began to wash the purple food dye out of her hair in the sink.

"You must think _I'm_ stupid if you believe my plan to lure you into some sort of trap is to tell you to meet us alone where I just told you we'd be fighting. If I were trying to trick you I'd, I dunno, invite you out to eat or something. I'd make you feel safe and comfortable so you'd let your guard down. This isn't me scheming, I am telling the truth. I know you want to deck Quinn in the stomach like I have and trust me it feels good."

"Why would you want to hit her? You two are partners in crime," she snorted, wringing out more purple.

"You think someone that cruel knows how to be nice? You're more naive than I thought."

Having said my piece I walked to the door finding it to have been a prompt waste of my time.

* * *

I am such an idiot.

I wasted the meager remains of my allowance to call a cab and come to this damn diner and Brittany isn't even working.

Lacking a car I couldn't exactly come every day to know her schedule and asking seemed creepy. In the end I was only here to kill the empty hours between the end of Cheerios practice and the start of fight club. Eating before Quinn unloaded her anger on my innards was a bad idea so here I sat for no reason looking at this buck-toothed moron asking for my order.

"Can I have another minute?" I asked, hoping to slip away while her back was turned.

"Sure," the waitress chirped, and I could swear I saw spit fly out.

Disgusted, I started sliding out of the booth the moment she turned around, but a voice stopped me.

"Santana?"

I looked towards the door and there stood Brittany looking angelic with her hair down around her shoulders in short shorts, and a white t-shirt with a low-riding v-neck that I couldn't help but gape at. I concluded that day that I was a breast woman.

"Hey, Brittany."

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said, slipping into the booth, across from me.

"Um, sorry. Haven't been that hungry, I guess," what the hell did _that_ mean? "What's up with you?"

"I'm off today which is sort of weird for me, I came to pick up my paycheck and don't really know what to do with myself afterwards," she gave an embarrassed little laugh.

"I guess I'm having the same problem," I replied reflexively, not wanting to confess my real reason for coming.

A joyful expression spread over her face, "Well, if you aren't doing anything right now, we could hang out," she offered and my heart nearly blew a gasket.

Of course I wanted to hang out with her, and I would have, but my fear of what sort of punishment Quinn would cook up if I missed a meeting spurred me to turn her down.

"I really would love to, but I have somewhere I have to be soon," I said, sounding as regretful as humanly possible.

"Oh, okay."

"But maybe some other time?" I asked, having managed to pluck up every ounce of available courage.

"Um, I work most weekdays, but Saturday and Sunday I'm free."

I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out why a teenager would do that to themselves, "All week? Why? Saving up to go somewhere nice?"

She laughed prettily and I smiled what I hoped was a charming smile, "No, I just like being around people." I must have looked skeptical, because she clarified, "I'm home schooled, I have other friends who are too and we go places, but it isn't the same as meeting all the people you would at a regular school."

"I see." And like that I had valuable information about the girl of my dreams. "What grade are you in? Wait, do home-schoolers have grades?" I found my lack of knowledge on the subject mortifying.

Brittany only laughed her pretty laugh, "Not really, but you can say I'm a sophomore."

I did a happy little dance inside, I had always worried she was a few years ahead of me since she was taller, ridiculous I know, but it's what I thought.

"Then we're in the same grade... sorta..." I was feeling awkward and in desperate need of a change of subject to a topic I knew _anything_ about.

She laughed again, "Now we really have to hang out, we have so much in common. We're technically in the same grade and we don't know what to do with ourselves when we have extra time."

I could in no way see how that meant we had 'so much' in common, but there was no way in hell I was going to argue.

"What about tomorrow?" I didn't expect her to actually agree, I only wanted her to know how interested I was in seeing her soon, but her response was not what I planned.

"Okay, it's a date!" she cheered.

I wish I could say I kept cool and didn't blush like a kid at the word, but I did. I know she didn't mean _date_ date, I knew when I heard it. It didn't stop my blood pressure from sky rocketing.

"I gotta go," I said with a dopey grin as I stood up.

"Wait, where should we meet?"

I paused, meeting here seemed… I don't know, inappropriate somehow, "McKinley High, know the place?"

"Yeah, alright; meet you there at two?"

I nodded, because words had left the building, this wasn't an empty 'we should hang out', she really wanted to meet me later and now we had a date and time.

I left that diner feeling like I won a million dollars, then I remembered fight club and I felt like someone had set all my money on fire.

* * *

When I arrived behind the bleachers that night I wasn't even slightly surprised to find only Quinn there. She was flinging rocks into the woods to pass the time and I felt that bode poorly. I mean she has the best iPhone money can buy and she's out here throwing stones.

She noticed me as I got closer and frowned, "Where's Berry?"

"I guess she's proving herself smarter than you thought and isn't here."

"You told her to come right?"

"Duh, but I can't make her."

Quinn growled in frustration, "Of course you can, you didn't want to."

"No, I don't want to be a mean, manipulative bitch to get my way."

Her pretty eyes narrowed and she cracked her neck, "Then let's get started."

I already knew she was about to punish me for my failure.

Reluctantly, I raised my fists and got ready when I saw her back down, her sharp eyes fixed on a point behind me and the look in them told me our new member had arrived.

Turning I saw Rachel Berry walking up in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a baseball bat. My eyebrows shot up, because I had not signed on for this and in a few short hours I was supposed to be meeting Brittany, if I had to miss our date to go to the hospital I was going to be so pissed.

"You did tell her no weapons, right?" Quinn asked quietly.

I hadn't, and now I see that was my bad.

"That was never one of the rules!" I hissed at her.

"Well, it is now."

"A little late to come up with it, don't you think?"

"It's never too late," Quinn smirked, rolling shoulders in preparation to greet Rachel. "So you do own real people clothes," she said grinning widely, "And I hate to break it to you, but we don't do weapons."

"I figured, I just thought I better come prepared in case you two were planning to jump me."

Quinn had the nerve to look hurt, "That's cold, Rachel, why would I ever do such a thing?"

The innocence in her voice was so full of shit it made her breath stink.

Rachel ignored her, "So this is a one-on-one? No joke, you two honestly started a fight club?"

"We did, and as our newest member you're up first."

"Against you?"

"Whoever you'd like."

"Then you," Rachel said evenly, tossing the bat to the side.

Quinn looked like she had just had her deepest wishes fulfilled and when they squared off Rachel sort of looked like she might have as well.

"Rules are _no weapons_, no personal comments, no strikes to the head, no dirt throwing, and sex is a valid form of fighting."

Rachel frowned at that last rule and I refused to respond to the obvious look Quinn was giving me as she said it. Instead I took several steps back to give them room, but for a long moment they didn't move, they just stared at each other, their eyes locked.

Then all of a sudden Rachel attacked.

I don't know what I thought was going to happen, I guess I figured Quinn would tag her in the kidney a couple of times, Rachel would swing back, maybe land a few blows, and there would be some hair pulling followed by tears. Instead Rachel pressed into Quinn all of a sudden, head low, fists up, and began to work over her ribs with fast, tight jabs. Before her punching bag could swing back she leapt out of reach her dark eyes almost black with killer intent. Those deadly eyes flickered to me for a moment as if wary of my interference, but I wanted none of what Quinn had been served so I raised my hands and took another step back.

Quinn looked surprised and her legs wobbled a little after that first assault, but then she was back to business and it was on. They battled like titans and it was actually rather incredible to watch.

Rachel wasn't experienced, that much I could tell, she took countless blows from Quinn, blows I knew hurt badly from personal experience. But she was sturdy as hell and that turned out to be her main skill. No matter what Quinn rained down on her Rachel would press in and punch her ribs and stomach until her longtime nemesis had to scramble away. And once she realized that it was really on.

She stayed on Quinn like a vulture on a carcass, and I started to get worried when one blow made the taller girl take a knee. When Rachel landed a heavy punch to Quinn's stomach that made her gag and gasp for air I almost did step in, but then I saw that light again, that unchecked insanity bubble up in her eyes and I knew better than to go anywhere near that mess.

Sure enough she rose from that with a smile on her face and Rachel stepped in again to unload on her ribs.

It was her last mistake.

Quinn grabbed the back of the girl's head and held her in place while she kneed her in the stomach repeatedly. The blows were all solid and landed with devastating accuracy, I heard Rachel cry out in pain, but Quinn didn't stop and I suspected she wouldn't until her opponent passed out.

Then Rachel surprised us all by breaking free and slamming her fist right into Quinn's solar plexus.

They stumbled away from each other before they both collapsed to the ground, a motion that was followed by a short bout of vomiting for Quinn.

Both lay panting in the dirt before Rachel said, "Every Friday, right?"

* * *

A/N: There is much yet to still explain, hope you continue to make the journey with me.

To help some see my line of thinking here, this story makes some major adjustments to the Glee universe. These changes will shape the characters in different ways (most of which you will find out about in time), one of the biggest changes is removing the glee club entirely and replacing it with something less positive. I am taking the characters from where they were in episode one and pushing them down a darker path, but I plan to keep their core personalities in tact. This includes Quinn (remember Santana can only see one side of things).

Thanks again to **chombiric** who is now officially my longest lasting beta ever XD

Reviews are always welcome.


	3. Abuela

With Rachel and Quinn laying it all out on their first fight, we adjourned early, but not before Quinn and I faced off so I could take my licks. Sure, Berry had weakened her for me, but not nearly enough. I got a few good punches in, but on the whole my sides were still tender and bruised, which was why instead of melting into Brittany's arms on Saturday when she rushed up and gave me a hug, I only winced and tried not to scream.

As planned, we met in front of McKinley at the appropriate time and she showed up in these short, little cutoffs that made the pain of getting up and dressed that morning completely worth it.

"So what do you want to do first?" she asked me.

"How about a movie?" I said it casually as if the thought had just occurred, but in actuality I had already checked movie times and plotted a route to the nearest theater.

"Uh, I don't really have any money," she said shyly.

That didn't make a whole lot of sense; she worked a lot and said she wasn't saving up for something in particular, plus she had just gotten paid the day before, so she should have been loaded. I thought about asking, but if she wanted me to know why she was broke, she would tell me.

"Don't worry about it. I can cover your ticket."

She blushed deeply and it was about the cutest thing I had ever seen her do. "You don't have to do that!" she exclaimed, but I had already made up my mind.

"It's no problem." A big, fat, bold-faced lie. I had stolen the money out of the coffee can above the freezer where my parents hide their cash. They have so much they would never know it was gone. Besides, I figure they owed me for their negligence.

"Is it really okay?" she asked, though I could see how excited she was about the whole thing.

If I didn't have the money from my parents, I would have gladly robbed a bank to keep that joy on her face.

"Promise," I said and took her arm to guide her out of the parking lot and onto the nearby road that would take us to the only AMC in Lima. "What kind of movies do you like?"

"Romance," she said right away, "What about you?"

Action horror.

"Same, so we're good. There is a new Emma Watson film out. I think it's a romance."

I knew it was; I knew it was playing exactly ten minutes after our projected arrival time traveling from the school to the theater on foot.

"Oooh, I love her, this'll be great! You're a fantastic date, Santana!" she said, pulling herself closer to my side.

She was just being friendly, but her touching me combined with that statement had me practically floating down the street.

* * *

I bought her popcorn, soda, and candy in addition to her ticket. She took it all almost apologetically, having no idea how happy it made me to be able to do that for her.

The movie might have been good, judging by how often Brittany laughed it was pretty funny, but I don't remember a single thing about it, because she had her head resting on my shoulder and I could smell vanilla shampoo. I never really liked vanilla, my tastes leaning more towards fruity, tropical mixes, but at that moment I couldn't think of a single smell I'd rather inhale than the warm scent of it wafting from her hair.

When it was over, we left the theater, Brittany busy recapping the entire movie and telling me her favorite parts. She kept apologizing for saying things I already knew, but I waved her apologies off, especially since I hadn't really seen any of it and I loved hearing her talk.

We had gotten a block from the theater with no particular destination in mind when I spoke up during one of her few lulls in talking, "Hey, how about we go get something to eat?"

She smiled and gave a small chuckle, "After you filled me up on movie food? No way, I couldn't let you do that."

"Come on, let me treat you," I said, trying not to sound like I was begging.

"I have to get home for dinner, so I better not eat any more," she said thoughtfully and I could feel my smile fade a little. "I know! Next time we go out I can buy you dinner! It'll be fun. And fair, since you paid for, like, everything today."

I would have objected, but she had so naturally assumed we would go out again I lost my ability to form an argument.

"Um, alright."

"Same time next week?"

"Yeah," my simple answer was born from the extreme efforts I was making to keep my excitement from overwhelming me.

"I should probably get home, my mom gets mad if I'm gone too long."

I gave her my most charming smile when I asked, "Then will you let me walk you home?"

She returned the smile tenfold before laughing and taking my arm once more, "Okay."

Seriously, there are no words to describe how pathetically happy I was to hear that. I felt bad for my future self that would have to accept that this wasn't a date; in the now I let myself thrill at the feel of her against my arm and the way she was grinning from ear to ear.

I went ahead and pretended that joy was something just for me, something she shared with no one else. A ridiculous thought, but if you're going to have a fantasy, what's the point if it's not a little decadent?

She guided me down the streets and I memorized every single one as we went. Her home was in exactly the pristine, little slice of suburbia you would expect – complete with white picket fences and rosy-faced kids playing in the front yard. I felt a little out of place being there, but with Brittany walking next to me it was more like being given a tour of some silly, new, feel-good ride at Disney World, like It's A Small World suburbia style… without all the diversity.

When a tall, baby blue house came into view I somehow knew it was hers, because it was sort of unbelievably perfect, like she was. There was even a rose garden in the front yard and a rocking chair on the porch. The only way it could have been more wholesome is if her grandmother was sitting in it, knitting next to an old, faithful bloodhound. It was that all-american scene that was in every artists depiction of an idyllic home, and if it hadn't been in connection with Brittany, it might have sickened me. As it was, I couldn't imagine another home for her.

When I walked her up the disturbingly even gravel path, she turned on her heels with a smile that made me return it instinctively, "That was a lot of fun, Santana. I can't wait to do it again… without you having to pay for everything." She added the last part with that cute, little blush that told me she was genuinely put out about being taken care of.

"Next time it's all you," I said confidently, hoping that neither longing nor desperation were apparent in my tone.

If they were, she didn't say anything. She just smiled wider before she thanked me again and vanished inside her fairytale home. I watched her and wondered what I would do if she ever invited me in.

Probably make an ass of myself as was my habit around her, and it made no damn sense, because in every other social encounter I was the one everyone was nervous to even make eye contact with. By merely remembering my name, she can make me into a drooling idiot – hell, she does it by just being her perfect self.

And I know she isn't _actually_ perfect, she can't be, no one is, but to me she will never be anything else. Trust me, I've tried to disillusion myself to her charms. It hasn't worked yet and every day I see her I get a little less interested in succeeding. My dream girl is perfect, even if she isn't.

I left her house with that I-can-die-happy-now feeling and it lasted throughout the weekend.

Then Monday rolled around.

In the morning, Quinn picked me up as usual. We went to school and our various classes without incident, but soon I realized that Friday wasn't where all the crazy was contained nowadays.

The Head Bitch in Charge had me sitting up on the bleachers during our physical education Cheerios practice, allegedly to have a serious talk with me about my attitude. In reality, she had me looking between the seats at the weirdos below.

"This is about the fight club, isn't it?" I sighed, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, actually, what do you think? They all seem pretty damaged."

I frowned, looking up at her, "So we only invite damaged people? What does that make us?"

"Will you honestly try to argue that either of us _don't_ fit into that category?"

I could not.

"They all kind of look like they wouldn't wait for Friday and just beat the shit out of us for coming into their space."

She squinted her pretty eyes and nodded, "You're right, best they come by hearsay. Inviting them will make them believe they can act on their own terms."

I sighed again, because I couldn't believe I was actually engaging in this conversation with her, "We want news of this thing getting around?"

"Not to teachers obviously, but yes, we do. To a select few."

"And we control this how?"

"I have a plan for that, don't worry your pretty, little head about it. For now, find our next member."

"Why me again? Make Berry do it, she's the new kid in the group!" I snapped, sick of being forced to continue to appear interested in this insanity.

Quinn seemed to consider that, "Hmm, how about both of you do it?"

"Why the fuck don't _you_ do it, Q?!"

Her eyes narrowed and I saw a flicker of the demon that scared me so, though I did everything in my power to keep that fear from showing, "Keep your voice down, and I have been scoping out potential fighters. That's why I brought you here."

"Oh, right, and if I said they looked like good candidates you weren't intending to send me down there at all. No, your plan was to ask my opinion then handle the matter yourself." I like to apply copious amounts of sarcasm whenever possible.

"Actually I was, because you're scared of a waitress so much as _thinking_ you like her pretty smile. They would have spotted the cowardice in you from the way your spineless ass jelly walked up to them and body slammed you into the concrete."

I would have been insulted, but honestly, I asked for that. Poke bull; get horns.

"I'll keep my eyes open."

"Fuck that, you'll find someone," the 'or else' was implied and taken quite seriously.

* * *

So now I had to find another person in the school as crazy as Rachel was.

The good news: every person in the school fit the bill. The bad news: most of them would be just smart enough to see all the ways fighting at the school after hours was a bad idea. Besides, even if I did find a girl who wanted to fight, I would be hard pressed to find one that also wanted to throw away all her Friday evenings.

I thought about where one might find such a person. At first I considered the gym where the all the athletic types hung out, but that seemed unlikely; athletes didn't like injuries and fighting could get them kicked of their teams. I wandered the halls and past the bathrooms, hoping to catch the jocks making some poor loser miserable and therefore vulnerable to the kind of idiotic suggestions I was toting around, but no such luck.

In the end I settled for the library. It seemed as though those who were teased the most, while under the most pressure to succeed, were the nerds. Besides their respective nerd clubs, the library was the only place I could think to look for such people.

I went in and pulled out a yearbook off the shelf to give me something to appear to be doing besides scoping out potential victims for Quinn. Which meant that my lunch break was spent in the library, doodling in the previous year's yearbook like a lonely loser, because everyone was at lunch. Eating... as I should have been.

Granted, I could have just gone, but it was nice to not have Quinn and the vipers in red and white all around me. I drew horns and missing teeth on Principal Figgins and even more curls on Mr. Schuester's already redonculous hairdo. I sketched a ton of bricks about to fall on Mrs. Hagberg's head and even got around to placing stitches on her face before something snapped me out of it.

The noise was voices, arguing voices. It was a boy and a girl and from where I was sitting I could see they were Asian which meant the nerd and stress status was at a plus ten, so I figured this was the very thing I was looking for. The girl was arguing about something like where they went to eat every night. I couldn't really tell other than it was silly and the boy was getting more frustrated by the word.

At the end of it he said something he assumed to be placating, gave her a kiss, and left her standing in the middle of the history section, looking quite disgruntled. I saw my chance.

Here I should say, I did not think this girl a good candidate, but if I were expecting something better to fall in my lap I was going to have a _long_ week ahead of me.

The girl saw me approaching and tensed in a way that made me worry, but I kept on walking until I was right in front of her.

"What do you want, Santana?" she asked, irritated.

She knew my name.

That's bad news.

I didn't know hers and couldn't even place where I _could_ have known her. Given how she automatically tensed up, knew exactly who I was, and expected agro first thing, I had to assume I had teased this girl at some point. It was more than likely. I teased a lot of people, I know I teased Asians, but I couldn't recall bullying this particular one. In any case, she clearly remembered me in a negative way.

"Looks like you were having a rough time there."

"It's n-none of your business."

A stutter – that explained a lot. She had been an easy target more than likely.

"I know and that works out, 'cause I don't care. I'm here to make an offer," I said it feeling like the emissary of Satan, trying to get some unsuspecting mortal to sell their soul. Actually, that is exactly what I was.

She seemed both intrigued to know the offer and eager to tell me where to stick said offer.

"If this is about s-school work or something, I'm the wrong p-p-person to ask."

"No. Listen, Quinn and I have started an exclusive club," here I stopped, because I doubted being as blunt as I had been with Rachel would work. Berry had been someone pushed to her limit, fresh off being ridiculed and tormented; she had been offered a chance to get back at one of her chief antagonists. This girl had probably suffered under Quinn's wrath as much as mine, but since Cheerios always had the courtesy to learn the names of their favorite victims it probably hadn't been too bad.

Concluding that, I went for a change in tactic, "It's a place to let out some aggression and stress. You seem stressed and a little workout wouldn't hurt either," I sniggered cheekily, even though I personally found her shape quite appealing. She was no Brittany, but I would be hard pressed to pass her up as a second choice... assuming she dropped the goth thing and got a speech coach.

"And w-why would you or Quinn want me in y-your exclusive c-club?"

"Because the requirement isn't popularity, it's... a passion for self-expression," not exactly a lie.

"What kind of club is it?"

"You'll have to show up to find out. We're keeping it hush hush, all I'll tell you is it's where you go to take a swing at your problems. We meet at seven on Fridays behind the bleachers, come and if you don't like it, leave."

I said my piece and walked away.

* * *

Friday rolled around and she didn't show.

Rachel did. In fact she was early, spending her free time stretching in the clearing. This time she wore, what appeared to be, a modified dancing leotard. It had been cut above the knees and now sported a rather sloppily sewn hem.

Of course Quinn couldn't let that pass.

"What on earth are you wearing? Did my compliment about your attire last time leave you too flustered to perform the same miracle again?"

To her credit, Rachel merely sighed and stood, "Whatever, Quinn, let's get started."

A sly smile spread over our blonde overlord's face, "Not so fast, Berry, you went first last time," she said and turned to me.

I was in so much trouble.

I looked behind us to see if maybe the nerd wanted to arrive fashionably late. No such luck. Quinn backed out into the clearing and signaled to me as if she wanted to dance. And like the easily-led chump I am I walked towards her.

The match started and after the first punch to my stomach I was ready to quit. Her strikes weren't just hard, they were spiteful. Her fists dug in and had a bite to them that made my eyes water. I don't know where in the hell she learned to fight, but it wasn't in the school yard. These weren't the blows of some bubble-headed teenage girl who had never made a fist in her life. She knew what she was doing, and she was punishing me for failing to do her evil bidding. It was no one's fault but mine (and the Asian nerd's), so I took my beating while trying to defend myself as best I could – which wasn't well at all. I withstood the pain, because I knew if I tried to escape by tapping out she would find some new, crueler way to get to me. Mostly it was made bearable by Brittany; I would see her again in less than twenty-four hours. With that on my mind, I was able to take the pain... until she kneed me in the side of my thigh and I couldn't stand up any more.

Afterwards she and Berry began their own little dance, watching them through a haze of pain their fight seemed almost sweet. They traded blows and both seemed a little more engrossed with each one. If it hadn't been so brutal, it would have almost been romantic. Rachel threw everything at Quinn, and I felt a little worse about my bullying when I saw how much the hurt inflicted caused her to lash out.

They fought until Quinn finally had to tap out once Rachel surprised her with a sharp chop to the throat.

That amused me a great deal. If I hadn't been near tears, it would have made me smile.

While she was still on the ground, gasping for air, I staggered to my feet and looked to the glorious horizon that was Brittany, waiting for me at a nice, warm restaurant with a smile. I knew my leg was going to bruise spectacularly since it still hurt like hell, and to my dismay I was consciously aware of every organ in my body, yet I was able to walk away.

Or so I thought.

"Where do you think you're going? Berry isn't my personal sparring partner," Quinn said with as much venom as she could with watering eyes and a raspy, willow thin voice.

I looked her in those deep, fathomless eyes and saw that she was absolutely serious – she wanted me to fight Rachel. And when I looked over to the smaller girl, I didn't see the shy teen who only clenched her jaw to go cry somewhere later after being teased. There was a beast behind those long lashes, it had tasted blood and was hungry for more. I wasn't going to find an out with her.

I considered just leaving and letting Quinn do whatever about it, but then I felt a pang shoot through my leg and simply resigned myself once again. What's more, I couldn't even figure out if I was being unreasonable or not. Was I? Should I stand up on my wobbly, bruised legs and tell her to go fuck herself even if I knew she'd probably put a bomb under my bed for it? Should I have been a nark and told a teacher… for both myself and that teacher to meet the same fiery fate? Would it have been better to go out swinging than to suffer in silence?

I have no idea. And it doesn't matter for shit, because what I did was turn and face Berry.

She gave me a curt nod and when I gave her the okay signal, she proceeded to give me half a second before she kicked me _right_ in the same spot Quinn had kneed me. I crumpled to the ground, but not before dragging her with me, something I learned was completely different than trying to tackle Quinn. In a manner that I suppose is indicative of her serpentine nature, that particular blonde was slippery, always trying to wind her way out of my grip, something that I had learned to counter from years of roughhousing with cousins. Rachel on the other hand, it was like trying to hold an angry cat made out of muscle. Even holding her close didn't stop her fist from hammering into my side hard enough to make me wince. Even if I hadn't been bruised before, (then) it still would have been bad.

So we wrestled until we were both gasping for air and sweating heavily. Slowly but surely, I wormed my way behind her and got my arm around her neck, which was my first lesson in how some things are easier than they look. Movies always made it seem like if you wrapped your arm around someone's neck they would pass out in seconds. Rachel didn't even seem to care at first; yeah, her breathing was a little more labored, but it wasn't taking like it should have. Then I grabbed onto my forearm and squeezed. It almost took a whole minute before her strikes got lazy and sluggish, and then – _finally _– I felt her tap my arm.

I let her go and fell farther to the ground than I anticipated given her height, but when I hit the hard ground and looked up at the stars, I could only let out a shuddering breath of relief.

Maybe I should have been more worried about how soon one of the two of them was likely to kill me. At the moment, however, my sights were already set on a particular blonde with deep, blue eyes.

My body exhausted and my leg pounding, I turned to Quinn to see if I had served my penance.

Obviously not, since she was walking off in the opposite direction of Rachel. They both just left me sprawled out on the ground, and since Quinn was my ride home my extended punishment was clearly to walk.

But that wasn't happening.

I lay in the dirt until I was sure at least Quinn was long gone then called home, glad for once in my life that my parents saw it fit to be there for me. All it took was some half-assed lie about Cheerios practice running late for any and all questions regarding my appearance and tardiness to evaporate.

I can't express my hate for how that makes me want to cry.

That night I went to bed covered in icepacks and IcyHot, but the only thing that made my wounds feel any better was the knowledge that the next day I would see Brittany again.

* * *

When I woke up, I knew my day wasn't going to be as full of happiness as I'd envisioned.

Not only was my thigh a black and blue monstrosity, but a massive, painful knot had formed overnight. Then there was the fun fact that my back, shoulders, and hips were all stiff, never mind how every breath in made my ribs feel like a corset.

I took another hot shower and spent my morning planning the best outfit to make me look sexy while being covered head to toe in this raging heat. I had to, since concealer would do nothing to hide the mountain on my thigh.

To say I succeeded would be a huge overstatement.

To my horror, I realized that my wardrobe did not address the issue of modesty:/– everything was skin tight, thigh high and higher. My winter plan had always been coats, legwarmers, and, up until last year, a warm, male body wrapped around me. I had yet to face a winter as a lonely lesbian, but I made a mental note to update my wardrobe.

What all that meant was I met Brittany at the school in my Cheerios winter track sweats and a white, long sleeve blouse which was the only thing I owned that would go with the red and black that wasn't the top to the uniform. I wanted to do heels to make us a little even in height, but given how friggin' stupid I looked already I settled on sneakers.

Of course she was there before me, so she got the benefit of watching me walk up in my clown suit from quite a distance. By the time I was at her side, I was completely embarrassed. There she stood in shorts and a spaghetti strap shirt and here I was, looking like I didn't know what summer was.

"Hey," I said, pretending I wasn't sweating like a pig.

She looked at me almost nervously and I could feel her eyes gazing over my insane wardrobe choice. It made me uncomfortable in ways I had never known before.

"I'm dressed wrong again, huh?" she asked, and only the almost fearful way she looked at me kept me from thinking she was kidding.

"No, you're fine. Um, today was laundry day, so…" I said, but she seemed not to be picking up my meaning, "So I had to wear whatever was available."

I hated lying to her, so much. It was a small lie, but it felt big. Then again it was a lie about my clothing, which was covering my bruises, which were big, purple, green and yellow flags of how weak-willed I was to be dragged into something like a fight club.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly much happier, "I misread calendars all the time, so I thought I had it wrong again. The temperature changes a lot once you're outside, but then you go back indoors and everything's the opposite, so it's extra hard to plan."

That was a really silly thing to say, and it was about the most adorable thing I had ever heard.

I'm hopeless.

"I'm the one out of season, so don't worry about it," I said as I turned and walked away from the school to the main road.

"Where do you want to eat?"

She asked me that and I looked at her like I didn't understand English. I hadn't even thought about where we would eat. I was so hung up on who I'd be eating with I didn't bother imagining the food. Honestly, we could go to McDonalds and share a dollar fry if it meant that I could look into her eyes for an hour. After so much planning for our first date, I felt completely idiotic for having not thought that far ahead.

"Um, wherever's fine."

"What about Breadstix?"

She had the nerve to look at me with these pleading puppy eyes as if I had the fortitude to say no.

"Sounds great." And it really, truly did.

She lead me this time, insisting I talk about myself since she claimed she monopolized all the talk time on our last outing. I did want to share with her, but talking was difficult through gritted teeth since my leg still hurt like a bitch.

I told her I was a cheerleader, she really liked that; I told her that I made good grades and she liked that even more. However, when I told her I spoke Spanish and she asked me to say something, I said, "Estoy enamorada de tus ojos," but I translated that to, "Your eyes are blue." She still smiled and looked impressed. I hurt a little, because I lied to her again.

We managed to make it to the restaurant without me telling another.

I sat across from her in one of the booths while realizing this was the first time I had ever come here without about ten other Cheerios led by Quinn.

Surprisingly, it was a whole different experience. I wasn't nervously on guard for some backhanded quip I would have to cut someone down for, nor was I tensely watching Quinn for some sign she had bored of taking potshots at those around her and looking for new prey. Sitting with Cheerios is a task in and of itself, but with their soulless leader it's nerve wracking.

With Brittany I could actually sit and look around, and take note of how hokey the theme of this place was.

Then again, I did frequent the Burger Shack, so I could hardly talk.

_Then again,_ I didn't frequent it for the atmosphere.

That thought led me to look at Brittany. She caught me staring and gave me another sweet smile, I just melted into my seat, because I couldn't have been happier.

Just like the Burger Shack she made hokey look good on Breadstix.

I let her order for me, I let her talk all through our meal, even though she kept insisting she would stop before going off on another topic. I don't even remember what I ate, I only watched her. I cleaned my plate without tasting whatever it was and told her it was the best meal on earth. I went ahead and lived the 'This is a real date' fantasy out to the fullest.

Well, not to the _fullest_.

If I had, I would've kissed her the moment she was within arm's length, back at the school.

After we ate and had a bit of ice cream, I tried to pay, but she was quite insistent that she keep her promise from the previous week. I let her, feeling like I had really missed out, even if it was doing me a favor, since my parents really would notice the missing cash if I kept on thieving.

I walked her home again, ignoring the pain that was now blasting up and down my leg, and when we arrived I was surprised to see someone sitting in the rocking chair. Well, not someone – some_thing_. The fattest cat I had ever seen was watching from the porch through narrowed eyes, like a father who could see straight through my soul down to my true intentions towards his daughter.

I didn't particularly like that stare.

"That's Lord Tubbington," Brittany announced proudly, "I told him a lot about you."

"That explains the look he's giving me now," I said, keeping my eyes on the distrustful, yellow ones.

"That's just his face," she laughed and then, now get this, leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek before saying a quick goodbye and vanishing into her home.

It had been brief and friendly. My hormones didn't take it that way.

I blushed all the way to the tips of my ears and the cat's eyes narrowed further. I told him to mind his own business.

* * *

Sunday had me thinking I might need to visit my father's clinic. My thigh looked like shit and it felt worse. I doubted my leg was broken, but it wasn't fine either. It hurt like crazy and I made the snap decision that the day was meant to be spent indoors while reliving Saturday, with small edits to make it more of a romantic thing than it was.

I did my best to entrench myself back into my sheets and get ready to watch my internal movie when my mother's voice boomed up the stairs and ruined everything.

"What?!" I shouted back.

It was kind of a rude way to reply to her, and I knew it. I won't even pretend not to be one of those kids who acts out for attention, that's me to a T. At every available turn I do something and wait for them to react, but they rarely do. The best I get is a lecture and the worst is a grounding they never bother to stick around to enforce. I also won't pretend that doesn't frustrate the shit out of me.

I _will_ pretend that I don't secretly believe everything Quinn said about them in regards to me. That's a little too much personal honesty.

"Come downstairs!" she called back up to me.

I groaned and rolled over, ready to ignore her and whatever it was she wanted; not out of some need to be even more rebellious, though, my leg really did hurt. It was easy to tune out the world with the covers over my head and my mind traveling to a far off world where Brittany was my girlfriend and we shared a simple dinner while holding hands. Keeping myself from skipping to the end where we shared a heated good night kiss, and probably a little more, was rather difficult, but I did it. My mind played out our conversations and I could stare at her smile openly without any worries about who might see. I even started planning a sequel on the side where we would celebrate our one year anniversary with a sexy, sweet setup in some exotic place-

"Santana Dania Lopez! Come downstairs now!"

I threw the covers off myself while filling my lungs with air to tell her exactly what I thought of her request and to inform her of how I was in no way going to oblige… I _was_ until another voice floated up.

"Don't shout up the stairs, no wonder the girl doesn't listen to you."

The anger left me in a rush and suddenly my leg didn't hurt so bad. I knew that voice, I hadn't heard it in person in years, but I knew it nonetheless. It was the voice of the only person in my whole family who gave a shit. I almost tripped over myself trying to climb out of bed and raced down the stairs to see if I had heard correctly.

And when I hit the last step and saw my abuela smiling at me, I almost cried in relief. I didn't even realize how much I needed her to be here until now. She looked at me and opened her arms for a hug I readily gave, and the best part was, she gave it back. It wasn't like the stiff, forced ones my dad gave me or the one-armed shoulder hugs from my mom, it was full and lifted me off my feet a little. She squeezed me so tight my bruised ribs started to ache, but I didn't care. My abuela was here, I didn't know how or why, but she was and I didn't care about anything else.

"Aye, Santana, you've gotten so big," she laughed as she planted a kiss on the top of my head for good measure.

"What are you doing here?" my question was full of barely contained happiness, instead of the biting spite I gave every other adult in the house.

"Well, we wanted you to come downstairs so we could talk about that," my mother interrupted.

I noticed her there for the first time, and if I didn't know any better I'd swear there was a hint of jealousy on her face.

Why she was here didn't really matter, there was no need for an actual explanation; either way I happily accompanied them into the kitchen where I found my father already sitting down with his serious face on.

That made me nervous. The last time I saw that look he told me abuelo died. Obviously that wasn't the case at the moment, but I had a sudden spike of fear for my grandmother's health.

We all sat down, but my parents did it quietly and solemnly like they were at a funeral held at a library. Abuela plopped down and ate some grapes in the bowl at the center of the table and if she was going to be chill, I would be too.

"Santana," my father started in his 'patron' voice, "As of late, your mother and I have been quite busy with work," as of late? Try always. "and we don't think it's healthy to leave a girl as young as yourself with no one to look after you for months at a time."

A weird, bubbly sensation flowed through me at the thought of what they were suggesting. I gave a hopeful look to my abuela, but she continued to pluck grapes as if the conversation hadn't started.

"Why?" I asked.

My mother scoffed, "Why? Because you are a teenager and too headstrong and reckless to be left to your own devices."

I didn't disagree, I had actually meant why _now_? Why do you suddenly care now?

"Your abuela has agreed to look after you," my dad continued as if no one had spoken. He did that a lot actually. "She has come all the way from San Juan to do so, that means I want to hear of no back talk from you."

His words made me bristle, I would never talk back to her, it'd be less dangerous to disobey Quinn. However, him challenging me made me want to challenge him.

"No seas estúpido, Santana won't backtalk me and I can tell her that for myself, thank you, Alberto," with a roll of her eyes she turned to me, "What they are trying to say is that I am old and broke and they don't know what else to do with me."

I smiled again, because she was so awesome. She always treated me like a person who could be spoken with frankly and I loved her for it.

"Okay," I said, trying to look as nonchalant as she did, but I couldn't have been more excited.

We would take care of each other, her son and daughter-in-law weren't up to the task, so we would pick up the slack. I couldn't wait. I wanted to put both my parents on a plane to somewhere and hope they never came back. It would be far easier to bear their indifference without them actually around to show it and my abuela there to give the love they refused to.

My dad went on for another hour about how abuela was going to sleep in the guest room and needlessly went over chores I was expected to do, the house rules, and my curfew. She looked bored and I did nothing to hide the same expression on my face. At the end he launched into his apologies that he and my mom wouldn't be home much longer and started talking about how important their work was. Abuela didn't care, and neither did I.

Especially since the mid afternoon was spent making plans both of them broke due to some work related crap they had to handle that apparently couldn't be resolved without their personal involvement. They left and I got to spend the evening cooking alongside my grandmother while she told me stories about my dad when he was a baby and how he had a bug up his ass even then. I laughed hard, ate well, and even fell asleep at her side on the couch when we sat down to watch tv together.

I'm not a child, but everyone has to admit it feels good to feel wanted, and when she rubbed my back soothingly, I felt very wanted.

I also felt a dull ache, because I had known for quite some time how my abuela felt about _lesbianas_. My parents _might_ flip their shit if they found out, but their reaction wouldn't matter that much since their approval or distain would always be about four states away. I had always preferred they not know just in case, because it was so hard to scope out the smallest ounce of affection from them.

I was writing them off in favor of my grandmother, but that was one hell of a gamble. Whereas my parents _might_ get upset about my sexual preference, I was quite sure abuela would disown me.

And that scared me more than anything.

* * *

Monday started amazingly.

I woke up to find my leg wasn't in agony; though it still hurt, the pain was manageable. I did everything I could to stay off it and forged a doctor's excuse with some of the letterhead I pilfered from my dad's office. It got me out of Cheerios practice all day and P.E. which is a win-win.

My abuela packed me a lunch and even offered to walk me to school, but I assured her it wasn't necessary. Quinn picked me up and didn't even make a smart remark about her being there. I was sure she was saving it for later, but in the here and now I was grateful. She did have a thing or two to say about the thick slacks I was rocking, but that knot still looked like a demon's back zit, so I still had to cover it.

Morning classes flew by and I thought I might actually make my goal of reaching the end of the day without a single incident of bullshit. Then, on my way to my algebra class, I saw Quinn standing at the end of the hall looking perturbed, holding a pack of cigarettes. Upon seeing me, she jerked her head for me to follow.

I sighed.

It was a stupid goal anyway.

I went out to the teacher's parking lot with her, because I am a sheep and she is a wolf with a gun.

We went to the usual spot and she lit up, it was so hot out she could have done it without a lighter. After filling her lungs with smoke, she passed it off to me.

"Did you find anyone?"

"For what?" I asked before taking a puff and passing it back.

It's sad that I had actually forgotten why my leg was painted in Madi Gras colors.

"For fight club, moron."

That response, combined with the ever present pain still in my leg spurred me to speak, "No, and I won't! Last time we fought you fucked up my leg! I probably need a cast, but instead I'm limping around the school with a fake doctor's note! This club is stupid, and I don't want to waste my Fridays getting mauled by you!"

I hadn't meant to stand up to her, but with Brittany and Abuela before me I had enough to deal with.

Quinn looked at me with the weirdest expression, like the people in class look at that one kid who doesn't know who Michael Jackson is.

"What are you talking about?"

I froze, because either we were in parallel dimensions where there was no fight club or she was playing dumb, "You damn near broke my leg, and you know you did! You stood there and tore into me before you unleashed Berry to make it worse, and I've had enough!"

"Santana, I did that for you, not to you!" she _actually_ looked insulted.

"What are _you_ talking about?!" I repeated back to her.

"Do you still not get it?" she asked, looking at me with a level of disappointment I hadn't seen since the last time my parents bothered to attend a parent/teacher conference. "Do you not understand the point of fighting?"

"No, actually, I don't!"

She gave an exasperated sigh, "What did you think the point was?"

"To let off some steam? To win?"

Quinn took another long drag of the cigarette and let the smoke out with a chuckle, "To feel pain."

"Oh, well, I suppose I'm an idiot for not seeing that," I said with the maximum amount of sarcasm.

"You are," she said turning to me and I jumped, because that fathomless, empty look was back in her eyes, "What did you think? That Rachel comes out on Friday to win a fight? No she comes to get hurt, she comes to hurt me, that's the point."

"I get it now."

I didn't.

"No, you don't."

Damn.

"Santana if you come up to Berry and I with the intent of fighting _us_, yes, you will be in pain and unhappy. When Rachel comes she isn't just fighting me, she's fighting her dad's cancer, her lack of popularity, her self-hatred, her _life_. And I fight back, because there is nothing like ripping into your own demons, to give them flesh and blood and kick the shit out of them. And when you walk away with bruises it isn't the type of pain you want to go away, you relish it, you learn from it, you overcome it."

"Uh-huh." I still didn't get it.

Unfortunately she knew.

"True, it may be easier for Rachel since I am, in fact, the embodiment of what hurts her at the moment. Let's try this." After a final pull on the cigarette she threw it out onto the asphalt before she leaned over me, much like she had the last time we were out here, "Think about Brittany – sweet, innocent Brittany. Now think about the fact that you are so deep in the closet you'll need a compass, map, and a year's worth of supplies to get out, assuming you even wanted to. Think about how, while you are busy navigating your way through last century's fashion on your quest to the outside, Brittany will have found some man to love, and you'll get to spend whatever time you have left in Lima watching her get used up by every asshole in the state who sees how easy she is to take advantage of."

My mouth was dry, and I wanted to shove her away from me, to call her a liar and a bitch, but like most things she said I could see all the ways she was right. My throat clenched and my eyes pricked with tears that I refused to shed in front of her.

But I had no choice when she suddenly reached out and dug her fingers right into the tight, knotted bruise on my thigh.

I sat there, gaping at her in a silent scream as the tears I had been fighting so hard fell anyway, "Now focus on this pain, put it all here. Put all your fears _here_," she squeezed harder as she stressed the word and this time I did scream and shove her away.

Furious, I leapt to my feet ready to fight, but she had, too.

"Now put that pain in your fists and let it go," she said and opened her arms, a clear invitation to hit her.

I didn't resist, I lashed out and caught her in the stomach. She doubled over but didn't fall, instead she stood right back up and pulled me close, "Hit me with every time your parents have left you, every time you've had to pretend to have a boyfriend, every time you've felt ashamed of who you are."

I don't know why, but I did, I was crying like an idiot and hitting her side with everything I had, she allowed it for a short while and then shoved me back before returning the blow I gave her to the stomach with interest.

"That's for being gay," she said casually, before she hit me again, "that's for being an unwanted pregnancy, and this," her fist damn near cracked my ribs, "is for being such a chickenshit."

It hurt, it made me nauseous, but at least now I got it a little better. The whole time I had been saying fight club was a way to relieve stress, but it was more than that. I was still too scared and conflicted to really be able to channel my anger in that way. That wasn't the case for the punches I took. Every accusation she made hit my heart like a hammer, but her fist caused just as much pain and the two began to bleed together. I forced myself to only feel the ache of my ribs instead of the fear of being abandoned by my only caring family member, and just like she said they became one.

I didn't know how to handle fear or rejection, but I could handle a bruise. I could deal with pain.

"This isn't the lonely depression of cutting and crying alone in a room, this isn't the meaningless monotony of a punching bag. Life is breathing, changing, spiteful, painful; if it doesn't hit back, it doesn't feel real. This isn't about hitting someone, this isn't about winning. You come to fight club to get a grip on everything that is wrong, and in doing so you enter into something sacred with the person you are fighting. I want to fight, I want to be fought against, I want to hurt and heal on the inside and out. It won't solve my problems, but I find it makes them a lot fucking easier to manage."

I collapsed back onto the pavement, sweating profusely under the disgustingly hot sun in my slacks, feeling better than I had in a long time. Better even than finding out my abuela was going to be staying with me. Though not as happy as my non-date with Brittany. That was special.

Quinn was crazy, and her logic was even crazier; the fight club was stupid, dangerous, and bound to end badly.

That said I can't help but stress that her crazy, stupid idea allowed me the first fully carefree afternoon since I realized that I didn't buy Maxim magazines for the articles.


	4. Fake Santana

The week dragged by with me hurting more than I ever had coming up on a Friday, but at least now I knew why.

Thanks to the promise of another Saturday with Brittany, and my newfound ability to take hits and channel them to deal with my own self-loathing issues, it was a lot easier to get through. There was just something soothing about getting punched for all the things I felt I deserved it over.

Sounded dumb then, sounds dumb now.

Still true, though.

The nerd still didn't show her face and I think that may have been the reason Quinn damn near hammered me into the ground. Regardless, I made it through and Satan's angrier cousin was kind enough to drive me home. When we pulled up to my house, I got ready to get out, almost ecstatic at the thought of a hot bath and a warm meal. Of course Quinn slapped my hands away from my seat buckle to keep me in place. Nothing can ever be easy.

"I'm picking you up at seven tomorrow; lately you've been rocking some really tacky pants, so I suggest you use your morning to shop for something more fitting."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, because these days I never knew if I had forgotten something or if she was finishing a conversation I had never been a part of. It was more than a little obnoxious.

"Why, pray tell, am I shopping for you? You know my funds are limited."

"Your inability to remember the most basic appointments baffles me," she sighed, "Noah's party, the one we agreed to some time ago, is this Saturday. As my second on the squad, your appearance is a direct reflection of mine, so step it up."

"I would hate to ruin your reputation with the wrong pair of pants," I scoffed.

"Yes, you really would," she said before reaching into her purse and fishing out a fifty. "Make it something sexy, but not slutty."

Leave it to Quinn to turn shopping into a matter of life and death. I rolled my eyes and took the money, "I wouldn't need to shop at all if you weren't taking all of your daddy issues out on me," I grumbled.

Apparently those words struck a chord.

I knew, because the look she gave made me feel like a child teasing an angry dog only to suddenly notice the damn thing's leash wasn't actually tied to anything.

That demon was unfurling in her eyes and it had the whole of hell behind it, "Get the fuck out of my car and be ready tomorrow."

The rebel in me wanted to challenge that – after all, why on earth should she be allowed to talk endless amounts of shit about everyone, but the moment I say something that pushes her buttons it's game over? I hadn't even actually meant anything by it, since Quinn seemed to have more issues with her mother than her father.

However, while my inner badass wanted to fight, the survivalist (coward?) in me decided it was best to leave it. When she got that look in her eyes, things were going to end badly for the person on the receiving end, and given the levels of crazy she had been displaying recently, I didn't want to challenge her.

The coward (survivalist?) won out and I got out of the car, barely closing the door all the way before she sped off. I had to leap back to keep her from running over my feet, but if an almost-injury was all I have to suffer, then I consider it a win.

Finally free of my voluntary bondage, I walked into my house and took in the smell of dinner cooking and the sound of singing coming from the kitchen. The melody broke when I closed the door and I heard my name called from the same place as the source of that delicious smell.

Once in the kitchen, I couldn't help but smile at my abuela cooking in my dad's 'King of the Grill' apron. "How was practice?" she asked.

My smile widened, because that may have been the first time anyone asked me that.

Sure, I had lied and said I had cheer practice late on Fridays, but she had listened, remembered, and cared; that was all I ever wanted.

I am aware my standards are pathetically low.

"It went alright. I'm a little beat up, though."

She turned and looked at me with a worried gaze, "You looked like you were limping a little this morning; have you been hurting yourself in these practices?"

I was more than a little stunned that she had noticed, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. It comes with being a cheerleader."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, "Hmmm, go wash up and come eat, afterwards I'll have a look at that."

I wasn't exactly keen on her looking at my injuries, though it didn't bother me as much as I felt it should. Instead of worrying about it, I went and did exactly as she asked: I bathed, slipped into something comfortable, and came downstairs to the inviting aroma of chicken and rice. She slid a plate to me and I could smell the seasonings and spices that came with the care of a home cooked meal.

We ate in silence – the food was far too good to be left unattended on the plate. It was a little difficult for me, because I kept trying to force the smile off my face and not grin at my grandmother like a needy kid through the whole meal. What can I say? I was really happy.

Afterwards we went into the living room to channel surf… well, she did. I just followed, but I know she didn't mind. She sat down heavily on the couch, and when I tried to sit next to her, she moved away, so of course I immediately thought that it had something to do with me. Turns out I was more paranoid than I originally thought.

"I haven't forgotten about that leg, Santana. Déjame ver."

Now faced with her scrutiny, I was a little more bothered by the prospect of her seeing the damage, "It's fine, I just have bruises."

She rolled her eyes, "You'll have more if you keep lying to me."

I gulped, because I knew she wasn't kidding. My life is so dangerous.

"I-"

"Apparently you want me to believe you are limping because your arm hurts?"

She had me there, so I gave up and lifted the leg of my too-warm-for-the-season pajama bottoms to show her the purple and yellow mountain growing out of my thigh. She sucked in her breath at the sight and gave me a look that was both angry and sympathetic.

"Santana, why did you not see a doctor?" she asked, touching the area lightly.

"It's not a big deal; nothing's broken. Injuries like this are normal on our squad."

"This is not normal!" she snapped indignantly, "Any school that allows students to be hurt like this-"

"Abuela, it's alright. I promise it looks worse than it is."

She gave the awful wound a dubious look, "Hay be tu," she sighed and stood, "I have something for the pain and swelling," and with that she vanished down the hall.

I waited and worried about what would happen should my abuela find out that I was allowing myself to get beat up regularly. Then I stopped, because there was no room left in me for more anxiety.

After a while, she came back with an unmarked jar I took to mean I was about to experience a home remedy San Juan style.

When she sat next to me, an odor that reminded me of the smell that would waft out of the men's room at school drifted to my nose and I was sure of it.

Mostly, I was sure I didn't want it on me.

All I needed was to have a jacked up leg _and_ smell like urine when I met Brittany.

"Come on," she said softly, but with that certain amount of inflection that told me she wasn't in the mood for a debate.

I lay my leg across her lap, and there was a bit more scrutiny before she shook her head and dipped her fingers into the brownish paste that smelled worse once it was out of the jar. I watched her bring it to my skin and decided, since I couldn't stop this, I would just allow her to do her thing and then wash it all off when I got upstairs.

However, once she lay on a thick coat of whatever it was and started to rub it in, the pain went from excruciating to nonexistent very quickly. Her hands were soothing and I finally allowed myself to relax a little.

I wanted to ask her what the hell the brown stuff was, but I decided that, at least until it was off my body, I'd be happier not knowing.

"How did this happen?"

I hadn't really prepared an in-depth explanation since I've never had to give one.

"We were practicing a routine and one of the other girls accidentally kneed me in the thigh."

She gave me a doubtful glance, "For you to be this hurt she must have come flying out of a cannon."

"Something like that," I laughed with a half shrug.

"You should take better care of yourself," abuela said softly as she put her full attention into her task.

Her affection made me feel better than the ointment ever could.

And then there was that pang of worry again, because I knew how easily things could change.

There was still a bruise on my upper arm from where Quinn hit me and I casually gave it a squeeze to take my mind off that. There was no point in ruining every good moment with her with my trademark worrying.

The pain was distracting and somehow comforting, like a slap I knew I deserved for lying about my injury like I was.

Seeing my grimace of pain my grandmother raised an eyebrow, "Does it still hurt?"

"No," I said quickly, "Abuela?" the question was more to distract her than anything, but when she focused her eyes on me, I realized I didn't have a follow up.

Well I did, but it wasn't something I actually wanted to voice out loud.

"Yes?"

For a moment I considered being an adult about something for once in my life and just tell her what I was so scared for anyone to know, but then I looked at the concern on her face and gave up. I couldn't lose that, not now. I told myself I would tell her someday, but not _right now_.

Just so you know- no, I don't believe my own lies.

But since I had to say something I decided to toss a rock down the howling abyss to see if it was bottomless and horrifying as I thought.

"I, um, on the Cheerios there is this girl who just joined. She's nice, but she gets bullied a lot."

She nodded while returning to rubbing the ointment in, "School is tough that way," she said knowingly.

"I think it's because she's on the cheerleading squad and has a girlfriend," here her hands stopped. After a time they resumed their movements at a much slower pace, "I don't want to give her trouble, but I might end up in just as much shit if I'm nice-"

"She chose her path, Santana; people like that aren't worth getting into trouble over."

The words were like ice water being poured down my back while someone ripped out my stomach and threw it off a cliff.

I tried not to squirm and failed.

"I mean, yeah, I guess, but I don't think she deserves to be bullied over it."

"I don't think anyone should lay hands on the girl, but if her teammates are uncomfortable with her in the locker room or touching them while they practice they have a right to say so, no crees?"

My mouth hung open. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to drop the subject, because I had the answer I knew was coming, but I also wanted to defend this imaginary Cheerio.

Apparently Quinn had conditioned me to inflict pain on myself whenever possible.

"Well, she isn't doing or saying anything wrong, and she has a girlfriend, so it's not like she's hitting on anyone. I just don't think she should be singled out."

"Then she should have kept it to herself. If she left the truth in the dark, where it belongs, none of this would be happening."

"I don't know, I just think she's still nice and a good athlete-"

"You shouldn't bother with her, Santana. You're better than that," she said, giving me the warm smile that I loved and I returned it, because I was desperate. I also hated it, because it wasn't actually for me.

Her love wasn't for the lesbian hiding behind the self-assured, hetero bully I made myself out to be.

I took it anyway. I would eat the meal meant for someone who didn't exist and cover the guilt with pain.

After our talk, she wrapped my leg up gently and sent me to bed with a kind kiss and a heavy heart. I left the ointment on, since it made my leg feel great and I could still feel the soothing warmth of her hands as I climbed into bed.

Had to worry the bruise on my ribs to keep her words from doing real damage though.

* * *

I was up earlier than usual, even for a Brittany Saturday.

The morning was spent marveling at how the swelling had gone down in my thigh and washing the foul-smelling ointment away until I only smelled of soap. Before I headed downstairs, I picked something slim and sexy to wear for my not-technically-a-date. Granted, I was wearing a pastel pink dress my mother had bought for me to wear to church, but it was light enough for summer and long enough to cover my still obvious lump. To put it better, the dress was sexy compared to my other options.

The reality was it made me look like I was twelve.

Something that was driven home by abuela's reaction when she saw me come down.

"Oh, look at you, dressed like a little angel," she laughed, a smile on her face as she cooked breakfast.

"Not really, it's too hot for long pants and my leg's too bruised for shorts."

"You look just like you did at your cousin's quinceanera."

This may have actually been the dress I wore… I can't remember. All I do recall was that I spent the evening looking at one of my other cousin's date and pretending it was because I liked her blouse.

"I look like a kid," I grumbled playfully.

"So, where is it you are off to so early?"

Once more her attention to detail flabbergasted me, I had not prepared a response to this.

"To hang out with some friends," I was impressed with how convincing I sounded.

"What kind of friends?" she asked and my throat tightened. I felt paranoid that somehow she knew I was going to meet Brittany with the intention of admiring every inch of her.

"Er, a friend from school?" my tone wasn't as convincing as I'd hoped and when she turned to give me a level stare, I felt my stomach drop (out) again.

"This friend wouldn't be a boy, would it?" she asked, a half grin on her face.

I blinked blankly and opened my mouth to answer only to shut it again. What would fake Santana say?

Fake Santana wouldn't be up at the ass crack of dawn to meet a girl she wanted more than anything; fake Santana would be off to meet some boy and make out with him in his car, maybe more than that. If I was going to tell lies, it was important to keep them straight – literally and figuratively.

"It might be," I answered back quietly.

She turned back to the skillet and emptied the food onto two plates before bringing them to the table. For a moment I thought she might eat and not say anything, but after I took my first delicious bite of scrambled eggs, she spoke up.

"I haven't been here most of your life, so I won't show up now and act like I can make you change overnight. I know Lopez stubbornness, it's in the blood; I tell you to behave and stay home and you rebel. Every man in our family is more stubborn than the last and none are half as hard headed as the women," she laughed.

I shuffled my feet, "So I can go?"

"Would you listen if I said no?"

That was a difficult question to answer. I, at the moment, had no idea.

When I didn't reply, she went on, "You are a bright girl. I know you are smart about who you date and I know you aren't fooling around with any of the little niños pretending to be men."

Well… not anymore… "I-"

A hand went up, "I would rather hear silence than lies, Santana," she said, but she was smiling again, "Just please be safe and don't bring home any new Lopezes in your belly."

I laughed nervously, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good! Now, I don't want you thinking you can run all over me either. I find some boy in your bed, you will get to see a side of me you will not enjoy."

"Yes, ma'am," and there wasn't an ounce of insincerity. After all she was the only person in our family that I truly respected.

I had seen her reduce hardened men to tears with words alone, including my abuelo who was the definition of macho. One word from her and he'd shove it, and I wanted to be her so badly, to command that kind of respect.

To give you some idea, I wanted to be like her as much as I wanted Brittany, and that was _a lot_.

"So," she said before starting in on her own food, "Who is this incredibly lucky boy?"

I decided then and there to make a journal of answers for questions like this. "Bret," I said, trying not to wince at the horror of this lie. It was disrespectful to the person being lied about and to.

"That may be the most ridiculous name I've ever heard. Is it from somewhere else?"

"No, it's American," I said, feeling the weight of my dishonesty sitting on my chest.

"Are you dating?"

"Sh- uh, he doesn't know I like him."

That clearly surprised her, "I would have never thought of you as the shy type."

I shrugged, "With him I am. I really like him and I guess I'm scared he won't like me back."

She chuckled, "If he doesn't, he's an idiot."

"Every adult says that to every teenager."

"In this case it's true."

"Maybe, but even if he's an idiot I still…" I stopped to swallow and brace myself to say what I was going to say out loud. It was difficult even though I had lied about the person the words pertained to, "I still love him."

Abuela choked a little and downed half her glass of juice, "Oh, mija, you are too young for that," she said after coughing. "I know it seems that way, but youth makes you blind."

"That's still how I feel," instead of looking at her, I pushed my food around on my plate finding my appetite had vanished.

"My advice is to not let your _love_ get the better of you," she warned before she started eating again.

I busied myself with food wishing life was the kind of thing you could test out hypotheticals in before committing them to reality, so I could tell her the truth, the whole truth, and see what would really happen. I would be able to see if she completely flips or realizes that I am still the same person she used to sit on her knee and read stories to. I would see if my parents would have the reaction I feared they might, spreading on their disappointment in me as thick as they could before they vanished to whatever random hospital needed them.

I wished I could just know that opening my mouth would lead me to being alone and unloved rather than living in fear of something that could wind up better than I'd hoped.

Or much, much worse.

More than anything I wished I wasn't so scared. Either answer would be possible to face if I were a little braver.

Between waiting for me to grow a spine or life to offer hypothetical options, the latter seemed like a more realistic goal for me to wait on.

I finished eating and hugged my abuela before I wiped all those pointless wishes from my mind and headed out to meet the subject of my every dream.

* * *

When I arrived at McKinley, I finally knew what could top the elation of meeting Brittany for an exclusive evening in her company.

The depression of going to our meeting place to find I'd been stood up.

I got to the school at ten like a dimwit, because I didn't know how else to spend my time with her on my mind. At two I was excited, at three I was worried and by four I was hurt.

Five o'clock rolled around and I realized that if I planned to keep my hide I'd better do some shopping and get home in time to meet Quinn.

I want to say I walked away feeling sad, but ultimately okay. I want to say I didn't cry a little on the way back, but I can't. In my defense you can only be abandoned by so many people before the shit starts to hurt.

All of a sudden I was looking forward to Friday.

In any case, by the time I reached the mall my eyes were dry, my head was held high, and the bruise on my ribs was a little bigger.

In Lima's shitty excuse for a mall finding a dress that covered my thigh, was sexy, but didn't make me look like Quinn was about twice as hard as I thought it would be. Eventually I found a black and red number that was close enough to fierce yet far enough away from Cheerio uniform to satisfy my needs. I also bought some makeup, because I was shopping on Quinn's dime and as I saw it she owed me for putting up with her.

That, and some artery-clogging junk from the food court, had me feeling well enough to pretend I was right as rain. I even managed to not feel like a complete loser for being stood up and then crying about it. Sitting at a table meant for four, I was able to eat my food with all the dignity a hot teen shopping alone in a mall on a Saturday could have. I decided at that moment that abuela was right – if _Bret_ wasn't interested, then there was no reason to torture myself over the issue, because half the school would kill to have my brains and looks. I had nothing to feel bad about. Underneath it all I still felt bad, but that isn't the point.

That surprisingly made me feel a little better, and then I heard _that_ voice.

"Santana!"

I already knew who called me before I turned around, and the second I heard her voice I was her bitch. All that fake independence got up and leapt out a window to die a horrible death on the pavement below [Lol!], Brittany had called me and I had no choice but to respond.

My chair clattered to the floor as I leapt out of it, making the couple at the table next to me jump.

"What are you doing here?" I asked with a pleased and horrified smile.

I was so happy to see her but still hurt, partially embarrassed about knocking my chair over, guilty over having just tried to dismiss her in my mind, and trying to make sure I was visibly presentable without a mirror and without moving. Which is to say I stood still with my mouth hanging open for a bit, looking like a startled squirrel.

I don't think she noticed, since she only smiled wider as she ran up and hugged me, and the pain from my ribs and arms shocked me back into the present.

"I had to come here with a bunch of other kids in my home school group, it's like a field trip thing, but I didn't know until this morning and I didn't have your number to tell you I couldn't come," she said in a rush and her eyes were pleading as she stood back and explained herself with my hands in hers.

She had to be somewhere and had no way to contact me – that made perfect sense and made me even angrier at myself for getting so worked up over one missed non-date.

"It's okay. I figured it was something like that."

Sometimes what a liar I am shocks even me.

She breathed a sigh of relief, "I was worried you'd get mad and never talk to me again."

"No way," I scoffed.

"Okay, give me your number right now, so it won't happen again," she reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell and waited eagerly for me to get mine.

I did so with bumbling fingers, because the idea of having her number scared me since it opened up countless opportunities for me to fuck things up. I took her number anyway, and I gave her mine.

"You can call me anytime, not just to tell me you have somewhere else to be on Saturday."

I was more than a little proud of how nonchalant I sounded saying that. I paid special attention to my eyes and kept them from darting all over the place.

Brittany looked like I told her she could have all the gold in Fort Knox, "Really?"

"Really," I laughed, amused by her excitement.

"You are the first person in my phone that my parents didn't introduce me to."

The shock couldn't be kept out of my voice, "Wow, that's…"

"Pretty lame," she chuckled.

"I would think that you'd get numbers all the time from your job."

"I do, but not from anyone I want to call."

We shared a laugh and I felt like my day just became a billion times brighter, "What are you doing now? We can still hang out, I've got somewhere to be at seven, but we could do something else until then."

I am fully aware I could have invited her to the party, but there was no way – I repeat – **_no way_** I was going to bring her around Quinn of my own volition. So far my budding friendship with Brittany was only known to us, and if I wanted a snowball's chance in hell of keeping her around, I had to keep my tormentor from finding out about it.

Besides, I didn't want Brittany knowing the me that shows up at those kinds of parties.

_I _didn't want to know the me that shows up at those kinds of parties.

Next to my list of lies, I need to make a list of things I actually like about myself to see if I can get anything other than 'appearance' on it.

Brittany seemed to consider my offer and a troubled expression came over her face, "I really wish I could, but I'm still here with them."

She pointed to the second story walkway where I saw a group of teens talking. One in particular caught my attention, and apparently we caught his, because he waved down at us. The kid was the textbook definition of a geek, with his thick-rimmed glasses, a sweater vest Bill Cosby wouldn't be caught dead in, and a pocket protector. Worst of all, he sat in a wheel chair that sported a pair of tacky light up wheels. After his long-distance greeting, he wheeled himself to the elevators, apparently to join us.

For some reason I didn't want that to happen, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"That's Artie; he lives a few blocks down from me," she explained, "His dad invented a chip everybody likes, maybe you've had one?"

"I've had lots of chips, so maybe."

"He brought one over for Artie and me to look at once. I thought it might taste good, but it was hard, green, and gross. I spat it out, but everyone was mad that I tried to eat it. I think it was because I said it was nasty and Artie's dad was trying to get my parents to give him money so he could promote it."

I laughed, but only a little, because I wasn't sure if that was a joke or if she was truly unaware that she had just described a computer chip.

At this point it must be unsurprising to know my opinion of her wouldn't change with either option.

Our discussion came to a halt as the King of the Nerds finally got off on our floor and weaved his way through the maze of tables.

"There you are!"

"Here I am," she conceded.

He gave me a brusque glance before turning back to her, "Everyone was worried, you know you can't just wander off."

It was adorable the shade of red her face turned, "I'm not a baby, Artie. I have a job, so I think I'll be okay in the mall on my own."

His eyes cut back to me as if to make a point, "I know you work, but this place is different."

Sensing his interest in me, she brightened, "This is Santana. I met her at the Burger Shack, so it's okay, she isn't a creepy mall person."

"Uh-huh," he said slowly, "We should head back, Britt."

"Yeah," Brittany said sadly, obviously embarrassed by his presence and unwilling to leave our conversation so soon.

Okay, I didn't _know_ that, but I have already explained my habit of wishful thinking.

"I'll talk to you later then," I said to her, pointedly speaking over the boy seated below us.

I don't know why he rubbed me the wrong way, but he did.

However, after she said goodbye and turned to leave and he offered her a ride in his lap, I knew exactly why.

Sure, I had her number, but he was riding off with the girl. I could hear Quinn's voice in my head telling me that this was the fate of my sad, closeted life.

* * *

When I got home, I put on my dress, did my hair and makeup, and spent damn near an hour trying to pick out the right shoes while having all the elation of going to a funeral. I was so lost in my own melancholy that abuela was able to sneak up on me.

"And what is it you are dressed so prettily for now?" she asked, looking me over.

Once again I had completely forgotten I had someone to answer to other than myself.

"Oh, I'm supposed to be going to a party tonight," I answered, already formulating the best lie to ensure I could go.

Not because I wanted to, but because I didn't want Quinn to hear I couldn't and try to come up with some plan to get me out of the house.

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a hard stare, "Will Bret be there?"

"No."

I could hear the sadness in my voice and wondered if she could too.

"Where is this party?"

"My friend Noah is throwing it at his house."

"I would ask if there will be adults, but I cannot imagine you admitting if there were not."

"There won't be that many people," I said as if that somehow counted for something.

"A few troublemakers are just as bad as many," she said before sighing, "But I'm going to trust you to be mature enough to go and not get into trouble."

I smiled at her, "Thanks."

"I am also trusting you to come home by curfew, because if I see you step foot in this house a second after eleven, we will have a problem."

"Yes, ma'am."

Outside, a horn blared and I realized it was time to put on my least favorite mask; it was time to leave the timid, fragile girl behind and be the bitch everyone would be expecting to show.

Standing quickly I gave my abuela a hug that she didn't let me slip out of easily, instead she held me tight and gave my temple a kiss, "I think your curfew is too late, it only gives more time to make trouble, so be safe and be good."

"I will," I said, knowing it was just lip service.

* * *

We arrived at Puck's a little after eight since Quinn stopped for food, not trusting anything he would offer us to eat, and because she didn't believe in arriving anywhere on time.

She parked in a decent spot across the street and I tried to hop out of the car, eager to have the night over and done with, when Quinn once again prevented my leaving.

"We need to have a talk about tonight," she said seriously.

I knew there was no point in trying to ignore whatever it was she wanted, so I didn't, "What about it?"

"Noah and his friends have major pull at McKinley and we need to keep our major pull over them. They are going to be drunk, horny, and ready for action, that means you can't keep up this ice queen act that keeps all the boys running. If one of them comes on to you, reel him in."

I gave her my most disbelieving look, "Are you telling me to whore myself out for popularity?"

She gave a derisive snort, "Before you came to your whole epiphany about being the biggest chickenshit homo in all of Ohio you were whoring yourself out for nothing. The way I see it, this is a step up."

"I'm not going to sleep with some boy because you told me to. Especially when you have this whole virgin Mary act going on."

"I don't care what you do as long as he's happy at the end of the night, but I suggest you prepare for the inevitable. If you want the big, shiny hetero badge you are going to have to do this – not just for me, but for you. I like having you as my second, but if you fuck around and get yourself outed, I won't be able to protect you anymore. As a matter of fact, I might be forced to line up a few public spats with you. I would need everyone to know your gay didn't spread to me."

"How thoughtful."

"Don't be bitchy, you know how it is. You don't have to sleep with anyone, I'm not saying that. I'm just warning you that if what goes on in your head gets out, the shit will hit the fan and I do not plan to stand by your side and get sprayed. You've faked an orgasm before and you've slept with guys you had no interest in before, what's a couple more? What'll it really cost you?"

"My dignity."

"The closet ain't free, kiddo," she said with a toothy grin before she got out of the car.

When we walked in the door, the party was already in full swing and I'd had enough time to rid myself of the lingering traces of the frightened girl who had been at my house. I walked into that party like I owned it and I kind of did, with Quinn at my side we drew every eye and acted like we couldn't have cared less.

I actually couldn't have, so it was easier for me to pull off.

Quinn stood at my side, a picture of indifference, in a dainty, little lace and ribbon number that would have been almost old fashioned if it weren't for her exposed cleavage and the indecent height of her skirt.

Seeing us enter, Puck flew right over, "Hello, ladies! What can I get you to drink? Seriously, name anything and I'll have it for you in a few seconds."

I wouldn't trust him to make me a drink for any reason, so I just shrugged, "I'll get to the booze later, what's there to do in this hole?"

My attitude didn't even make him drop his stupid grin, "We got pool downstairs and the water kind of pool outside, living room is a banging club, and the kitchen is the bar. If you're not into that, I think some of the guys are playing Madden somewhere, and if _that_ doesn't appeal, well, I think I can find something else for you to do."

My disgust at the suggestion wasn't faked, "I'll work something out," I said before walking further in while Puck lingered to make conversation with Quinn.

Nothing he mentioned really appealed, but I did show my face out on the deck to check out the pool. I was past the point of trying to deny that women in bathing suits was a turn on; however, somehow, with me desperately trying to be closer to Brittany, I decided I didn't want to spend my evening drooling over what I was too afraid to have.

Besides, it felt like cheating a little bit.

Even though we were only friends and I was a billion years from ready to tell her about how attracted I was to her, it still didn't feel right.

So I went inside to prepare my own drink, keeping it more sweet than anything since I didn't think the trust my grandmother had given me should be rewarded by me coming home completely trashed.

That left me to wander around with a red cup in my hand and nothing to do. I tried to fill the time by talking with other Cheerios and the meatheads they were with, but that got incredibly boring insanely fast. I watched a game of pool knowing I could smoke everyone at the table, but since being showed up tended to upset the jocks I only watched and clapped when one of them bumbled a ball into a hole.

I was content this way, simply showing my face to the important people and wandering around, offering a biting comment wherever the opportunity presented itself. Inevitably that meant that something had to happen to disrupt my groove.

"I haven't seen you dance all night, how about it?"

I turned around and realized that the request had come from the Cro-Magnon man, Finn Hudson.

The boy was a lumbering simpleton with zero idea of how to approach a girl. He was also captain of the football team and fake Santana was all about that. Had he not been, I might have said something about the way his face was red and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead in his nervousness to talk to me.

"Sure," I said easily and allowed myself to be lead back upstairs to where I was more than a little surprised to see Quinn allowing Puckerman to sprint to second base.

I wouldn't have even seen her pinned against the wall if Finn hadn't paused to give his friend a big, goofy double thumbs up that Puck just as obviously returned. Didn't think much of it though; maybe if Quinn found a steady boyfriend she'd ruin his life and leave me alone for a while.

Finn took me to the living room where the music was loud and the room so dark I could almost forget that there was a hulking, rhythmless buffoon dancing next to me.

Almost.

Because no amount of dark could make me blind to the way he touched me with tentative, clammy hands or the way he seemed to think dancing was trapping my hips in his hands and jerking me around to his failed beat.

But I let him, because fake Santana wouldn't care; I let him kiss me, because that was what was expected, even though it made the real me feel like the worst kind of traitor to the girl that held my heart.

Then that dark part of my mind that I associated with Quinn told me to let it go, because I would never have Brittany's affections and to fuck up my reputation over a perceived betrayal of a nonexistent relationship was beyond stupid.

I decided that part of me was right and simply blanked out when he pulled me to his doughy body and swayed with me. In return I did all the things fake Santana was supposed to: I kissed him back, teased him, pushed up against all the right places, and whispered all kinds of filth in his ear. I ignored the nervousness behind his actions and the way he seemed unsure of my advances; I pretended like his every joke was hilarious and his every line the sexiest thing I'd ever heard.

I didn't even balk when I found myself making out with him in a dark corner for no other reason than he clearly wanted it and it was something that fake Santana did.

However, I was quite relieved when he got embarrassed by his own erection and disappeared somewhere that I didn't care to follow.

His absence allowed me to wander again, and I did in the hopes he wouldn't find me again later to pick up where we left off. That was how I found myself lingering guiltily by the pool again admiring the water and the way it swirled around the ladies in it.

I still felt guilty, but with Finn's taint all over me, I felt I needed this for my own mental health.

It did soothe my conscious slightly when I was able to easily admit that not a single girl there, even half dressed and dripping wet, could top Brittany in her Burger Shack uniform.

A smile slid over my face as I thought of her and it vanished as quickly when I felt someone hovering too close.

"Hi," said a timid voice.

I turned and, to my complete surprise, saw the Asian nerd standing beside me.

"Hi, uh…"

"Tina," she said in exasperation, "We've only been going to school together for two years."

"Pardon me if I don't remember the names of the entire student body," I quipped as she sat in the chair next to me looking dejected.

"Whatever, apparently I'm p-pretty forgettable," she looked quite obviously across the pool to where I saw the boy she had been arguing with before.

He was talking happily to what I knew for a fact to be a notoriously slutty Cherrio and a few of her equally slutty friends. One thing I realized seeing him for the first time head on was that he was on the football team. His letterman jacket kinda gave it away also.

"He's your boyfriend?" I asked, pointing.

"Not if he k-keeps on acting l-like that," she huffed.

At least now I knew what this terribly unpopular person was doing here. She was the unlucky minority of girls who happened to date outside their station and realize the hard way why that was a bad idea.

"Right."

That was all I would offer her, because like her boyfriend I had a role to play that did not involve talking to some nobody.

"Are…. are you still having that c-club?" she asked, and when I looked over to her I saw her eyes were hard and angry as she watched the person she was dating only laugh as one of the girls groped playfully at his crotch.

"Yeah, Friday's at seven."

"I might stop by," she said and I could hear the sadness and frustration in her voice that caused her to come to me in the first place.

"What are you doing?" said the voice that haunted my nightmares.

We both looked up to see Quinn glaring down at Tina, "Oh s-sorry were you sitting here?" she asked, standing abruptly from the lawn chair.

Quinn casually sat where the other girl had been and took a sip from the plastic cup she held, "No."

The frigid manner with which she was ignored seemed to tip Tina off that our conversation was over. However, it did worry me that she walked off without another word.

"She was my new recruit," I said quietly to Quinn, "If she doesn't show on Friday it is officially your fault."

"Yet I will still blame you for failing," she said as if the truth of that surprised even her.

"I think her boyfriend is depressing her enough to join."

"If I were her, looking in the mirror would be enough to do that."

I sighed; even fake Santana tired of Quinn's bitchiness.

"Do you ever stop?"

"Nope."

"Figures. So how did you and Puck get along? Saw him looking like he might break through that phantom chastity belt."

"I could say the same for you and Finn."

"You could, but I can inform you that he's scared of his own boner, so we didn't get far."

She chuckled, "Noah guessed as much."

"You didn't answer my original question."

"I don't have to," she shot back.

Quinn frustrates me to the point of mental exhaustion sometimes.

"I'm surprised you even bothered with him since he isn't team captain," this was my lame attempt at bugging her half as much as she bugged me.

"Maybe not, but he's more of a badass. Finn's a halfwit and halfwits are easily lead. If I want him, I can assure you I will have him. It'll be extra easy if these guys keep latching on to losers like her," she said, indicating the direction Tina had walked off in.

"Do you know him?" I asked, looking back across the water as the jock in question knelt to the water to talk more privately with a girl.

"His name is Mike Chang, he's a second string player, so not worth my time, but talented enough to move up to QB, therefore worth me knowing his name."

"Is there anyone in the school you don't judge by their worth to you?"

She seemed to give that question genuine thought before she took another sip of her drink, "Is there another way to judge strangers who spend their days judging you?"

"Most of the people you pick on aren't strangers."

"Everyone is a stranger. I don't know a single person at this school besides Berry."

I have to admit that shocked me more than a little, "Come again?"

She rolled her eyes, "Do you really think you are the only person here hiding?" When I only stared, she pointed across the pool to Mike, "He's flirting with all the girls over there, but his eyes have been on that sad sack he calls a girlfriend all night. He's playing the macho game, yet he obviously knows that he's hurting her and even more obviously wants to stop. His creepy girlfriend isn't over there smacking him upside his head, so she's pretending to be okay with it all, but I can already hear the depressing goth poems she'll write on her Facebook page about how sad it makes her. Finn spent the evening pawing all over you just to show his friends he could even though I know he has a thing for me. I also know he believes in romance and gentle touches, so he was putting on as much of a show as you were. Puck is so desperate to be the manliest man in the world he's made himself into a simple-minded ignoramus. Little does he know that if he quit pretending to be a man, he might actually become one. Everyone here is fake, everyone is pretending. Fight club is the only place where I can see the truth of a person."

I frowned, "Am I not in fight club?"

The question caught her mid sip and she scrunched up her face in an attempt to hurry and swallow, "You are in fight club, but you don't know how to really fight."

"I do okay against you."

"You don't get it yet. Last time in the parking lot, I saw you half get it. You got hit and absorbed the pain, but you're stuck in self-persecution mode. I already know you hate yourself Santana, it isn't a secret," I opened my mouth to protest, but she merely gave me a challenging look and I found I couldn't deny it, "When someone looks their life in the eye and pours all of their emotion into fighting back, _that's _when you know them… there's nothing like it."

The crazy was back in her eyes and it worried me, "M'kay."

"Don't pretend like you understand, you don't and you won't until you learn how to really fight."

* * *

I made it home just before curfew. Thankfully Quinn tired of the party before I had to start cruising around for a ride home.

When I got back, I found my grandmother waiting for me in her nightgown, a blanket wrapped around her as she watched television. Opening the door startled her awake, but once she had a good look at the clock she gave me a smile and a warm 'welcome home'. She had actually stayed up to make sure I got home on time.

As happy as that made me I still felt incredibly sad as I went to bed, because I could still feel Finn's hands everywhere I never wanted them to be; I still saw Brittany rolling off with that snippy, little geek in my head, and I still hadn't forgotten that I was in constant danger of losing the only family member that cared.

It also occurred to me that even if I did keep her love she wouldn't live forever, and then where would I be?

I never had a day so full of happy moments leaving me so sad until this one.

* * *

A/N: Hay be tu: see it your way (roughly)

Every time I post a fic it seems one chapter has to suffer some sort of major delay, here's hoping this is the first and last.

For those that don't know, If ever you are curious about my update schedule or want to know what the holdup is, you can find info one tumblr (info in profile).

ANYWAY, I know a lot of you want to see more Brittany Santana interactions and I can promise next chapter will have far more of that.


	5. Worlds Collide

Having lived sixteen years on earth, I figured I knew the full scope of possible happiness; like, on a scale of one to ten I knew how elated I could feel at any one thing. Abuela coming to live with me was a ten and quite frankly it was the only thing that ever ranked so high.

Until I woke up Monday morning with a text from Brittany.

That earned an unprecedented eleven.

The text said: **_Happy Monday from Brittany P. and Lord T._**

I spent so much time worrying what to send back I almost got left behind by Quinn when she came to pick me up. In the end I settled for: **_Same, hope you do well in school!_**

I thought it was the perfect combination of silly and charming until I sent it and then every word seemed all wrong. I was still fretting over it when I got in Quinn's car, so much so that when she started talking, I didn't hear her. All I heard was me telling myself how dumb that text was.

Then I got another: **_Me too, my grades aren't great. I have trouble concentrating XP_**

I sent back: **_Texting me can't be helping lol_**

The moment I clicked send I panicked again – saying that implied she should stop texting me and there was no way in hell I wanted that to happen.

**_But if I don't text you then I just think about you all day and don't get anything done :(_**

My heart stopped and somewhere in my mind a brain cell had to pencil in a twelve on the happiness meter.

I sat there frozen, my fingers hovering over the input keys, trying to think of something to send back, but my grasp of both English and Spanish escaped me and I just sat there.

"You didn't hear anything I just said," Quinn sighed.

"Not a word," I replied, still trying to think.

"Whatever, you'll figure it out soon enough."

That worried me, but there was a more pressing matter at hand. Silence was sending the wrong message and I needed my messages to be just right.

**_No worries, I have the same problem_**

With the message sent I sat chewing my nails waiting for a response.

"Who are you texting?" Quinn asked, trying to get a peak at my phone.

I pulled it out of reach and shook my head, "No one important."

"Oh, well, good. Glad it isn't important; hate to think you were ignoring me for a reason."

_**Then we should hang out more often so we both do better in school** _

I almost dropped the phone.

**_Definitely, tell me when and where and I'll be there_**

It was a good thing over-eagerness couldn't be heard through text.

**_I'm free this afternoon. I have work but I get off at 6_**

It occurred to me that I was going to have to just throw out the old happiness scale and come up with one that dealt with the spikes of undiluted joy that Brittany made me feel.

I wanted to tell her I'd walk home with her from work, but then I glanced at Quinn out of the corner of my eye who was doing the same to me, or more specifically my phone, and changed my mind. The last thing I needed was for Quinn to find me at the Burger Shack. It was the first place she'd look for me after school if I wasn't home, and I wasn't ready for that.

I never would be.

**_Meet you at your place after school then_**

And with that I had my first appointment to meet the object of my obsession in her own home.

Quinn gave up trying to talk to me, and I went through the rest of the car ride with my head in the clouds. I was like that when we pulled up to school, when we got out of the car, and when we roamed the halls. However, I was thrown back to earth rather easily when two words hit my ears. Words that were not supposed to be spoken by anyone during school hours: Fight Club.

The first whispers of it made me think I was hearing things, but then moments later I heard it again on the lips of some freshmen as they rushed by. I turned to Quinn to see what her reaction was, but if she heard, she was pretending she didn't. Not knowing what else to do, I went to my locker, and gathered the books I needed before heading to my first class.

Where I heard _it_ again. This time it was being whispered behind me, and in a much quieter setting I could hear what was being said. I didn't really know either of the boys behind me other than to recall one was on the hockey team, but this time I knew for sure I heard those words – they were talking about fight club.

"When does it happen? Do you think they'd let me join?" the hockey kid asked.

The other boy repressed a laugh, "Why would you want to? I heard everyone in the club has to take a baseball bat to the nuts to get in. If you think you can handle that, then maybe you should meet up with them."

The jock gulped and that was the last of that.

In my next class I was pondering how those two could have gotten their information so wrong when I heard the dreaded words again from a boy and a girl in front of me.

"I heard the leader of the club has been in juvie for two years and every morning she wakes up and comes to the school to look for someone to beat up. Rumor is, the first person to put up a good fight was the first to join the club," the girl whispered conspiratorially.

A frown took over the boy's face as he leaned over to her, "I heard it was a guy that started it. Makes more sense that way anyways, chicks are too worried about breaking nails and shit like that."

If I hadn't been so stunned, I might have objected, but I didn't. Instead I sat there and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

By lunch it seemed that the whole school was buzzing with stories of a fight club; however, the details of when, where, why, and who the original founder was differed from story to story. I even heard some idiot say that the whole thing was run by Mr. Kidney, the janitor, in order to get back at all the kids who left messes for him to clean.

Instead of bothering with our study packet during Spanish class, I took the first available opportunity to ask Quinn what the hell was going on.

Of course she used my obvious curiosity as a cue to play coy.

"So now you want to listen? I don't know Santana we're in class and unlike yourself I need to be sure my Spanish is on point."

I scowled, because, as frustrating as it was to admit it, her Spanish was better than mine, "Don't be an ass – just this once – and answer me."

"Tell me who you were texting," she said with a raised eyebrow, her curiosity was sharp and I knew this lie was going to have to be good.

"My dad. Abuela told him I was out late the other night and he had some things to say about it."

"Really? He's never cared before."

"Well, since my grandmother is his mother she has a little pull over what he does," I kept the sarcasm to a minimum, because I wanted her to back off more than I wanted a fight.

Her eyes searched mine and I felt like she was legitimately scanning my soul for lies. I focused hard on looking irritated instead of worried.

Apparently it worked, because she huffed a little and leaned in closer to my position, "In that case, what I was _trying_ to tell you this morning was that I started several rumors about the club."

"Way to keep it under wraps."

"Of course all the rumors are false, and after I told a few different versions, the student body did the rest. They are far more creative than I could ever be and I am surprised how many of the more ridiculous ones are believed."

The question _Why?_ had to be written on my face, so I didn't bother asking; thankfully I didn't have to.

"Can you really not see the brilliance of it? For now they all believe there is a fight club going on somewhere, the faculty will spend forever trying to follow every false lead. Everyone will waste their time chasing something that doesn't exist, and eventually it will be known as a hoax. So should, let's say Mike's weird, needy girlfriend, decide to share with someone that she met the captain of the Cheerios in a field after dark to fight, who would really take it seriously? True, it was rather unbelievable before, but soon no one will give that story the time of day."

"That's a lot of planning for an assumption."

She had to stifle a laugh, "Assumption? No, I _know_ people – they are easier to manipulate than you'd think. This will work."

I didn't miss the fact that I fell in that category as well.

"As long as you realize that it doesn't mean we won't get caught."

"If we should just so happen to fall into a little trouble, I promise I will handle it."

"Is attendance still mandatory?" I asked, which caused shock to bloom on her face.

Then, right after, came her insulted face. If I loved one thing about Quinn, it was her unfailing ability to make a perfectly reasonable request sound ridiculous.

"Are you kidding me? You want to stop coming? For real?"

"Yes! I never wanted to go in the first place!" I snapped as loudly as I dared.

"Fine, stop coming if you want."

I only stared at her, because there was no way she was going to let it be that easy.

"Just like that I'm free to go?"

"Listen, this club is like a diet: You have to be on it for more than a second to see any results. I see you halfway to getting the most out of the experience, but if you're going to whine every step of the way, then quit. Go ahead, live your life like you have been, enjoy your future of silently wallowing in self pity, spending your Fridays fogging up the windows of the Burger Shack and doing nothing to better yourself."

"I can better myself without fight club."

She had already turned back to her work, "Yeah, let me know how that goes."

I didn't believe for a moment that she had actually freed me from my duties, but I still dared to hope.

* * *

The weird thing about my school day was that just about all of it was spent thinking about Brittany and our impending meeting. My excitement grew with every passing second and I barely got through cheer practice since my mind was nowhere near the gym. Maybe Quinn noticed but I didn't even bother looking to her. All I could do was plan what to say, what topics would be best, and I even worried if I should bring a gift or not. I even brought a change of clothes to keep fake Santana as far from her house as possible. I changed, got rid of the ponytail that was the trademark of that self-centered bitch, and headed out as soon as I could manage.

That was all weird, because once I was standing in front of her door the word 'excitement' could easily be crossed out and replaced with 'sheer terror'. I stood there, frozen in place thinking of all the ways this could backfire. It got to the point where I was willing to just give up and text her that something had come up.

Then I thought back to Quinn's earlier comments and I decided that if I wasn't going to fight, I had to do something to improve my own quality of life. If I couldn't take the chance that had been rolled into my hands, then I truly didn't deserve happiness.

So I womaned up and knocked. Then the door flung open so quickly I thought I was being attacked.

I flinched, but Brittany yanked me inside before I could properly react to her sudden appearance. She seemed to be feeling all the elation that had melted off of me earlier, because the most vibrant smile was on her face, one so bright I had to return it even though I was even more nervous than I had been just standing at the door.

"Come in!" she exclaimed unnecessarily.

"Okay," was my equally unnecessary response.

My hand was in hers as she pulled me down the short hall past the door, and I, as per usual, was in a state of simultaneous worry and joy. So when she shoved me into the kitchen, right in front of two very startled adults, I had the goofiest look on my face as I slowly pieced together what was happening.

"Mom, dad, this is Santana! I met her at work!" Brittany exclaimed, presenting me before the two people I was slowly but surely starting to understand were her parents.

Normally I would have been quicker on the uptake, but this was all so insanely sudden my brain was still busy trying to handle the fact that she was holding my shoulders.

Then somehow that vital piece of the puzzle worked itself past all the red tape that was my elation over Brittany touching me and got me to realize what was going down at this exact moment.

I was in Brittany's house.

In front of her parents.

Standing completely still like I didn't have a thought in my head.

Luckily my sudden arrival was as surprising for them as it was for me, meaning we all had the deer-in-headlights thing going on.

"Er, hello, Santana," her mother said as the first to get over her surprise.

"Hi," her dad followed up.

"Hi," I said back.

There was a violently uncomfortable silence in the remaining seconds that made me hyper aware of the blood in my veins and how loudly I was breathing. Looking at them, I could see bits of Brittany in both of them – she had her mother's eyes and hair and her father's height and nose. However, when the shock wore off, I didn't fail to notice that neither of them exuded the all-accepting warmth their daughter did.

As a matter of fact, the longer they looked at me the more something filled their eyes, something I couldn't place. It wasn't the same as the haughty disapproval of my race that I got from the older Fabrays, and as pessimistic as I tended to be, I couldn't believe that they could just look at me and know how incredibly gay I was, so it couldn't have been that.

It was curious, because it didn't even seem to be aimed at me.

"She goes to McKinley," Brittany offered, and I nodded.

"That must be… nice," her mother replied as if she didn't really know what to make of that statement.

"Come on, let me show you around," Brittany said in a rush, like she had suddenly bored of her parents.

I let her pull me from the kitchen and take me on a whirlwind tour of her home, which was even bigger than I had originally thought.

"This is our classroom," she said, showing me into the room just past the kitchen.

The fireplace told me it had originally been a living room, but now there was a chalk board, bookshelves, and two desks. The walls were covered with all kinds of diagrams, graphs and charts, making me wonder if I was about to embarrass myself with my limited public school knowledge.

Next, she took me through what I assumed to be a dining room and out to the back porch, "This is our garden; my sister and I have to keep a notebook on how each plant grows and we have to do a bunch of stuff with the petals and stems once they bloom. It's hot now, so there isn't a lot to see, but when everything blooms, it's so pretty and it smells really nice."

I nodded silently as I tended to do when unsure.

That seemed to worry her, because she chewed her lip a little before saying, "I mean, I know it's kinda lame. I bet public school kids don't bother with this kind of stuff."

That was when I realized she was actually nervous about me liking what she had to show me, so I kicked my brain into gear, because she needed me to.

"We don't, but we should, it's not lame at all," I said, looking out over the barren area, "The fence is really pretty."

There was an intricate weave of wood that I assumed separated the different kinds of plants. It made a simple garden look like a work of art, even without the flowers.

"My sister made it with my dad," she said proudly, "I painted the whole thing."

"That's awesome! I always struggle with art projects, so I know that must have been hard."

She smiled brightly which meant my response made her happy and that was all I ever wanted.

Without another word, she pulled me back to the hall and up the stairs to a room I didn't realize was hers until I walked in. I knew it, because the whole room screamed happy, optimistic innocence.

The walls were pink and there were Britney Spears and unicorn posters all over them; her furniture was all white wicker and there were piles of stuffed animals on her bed. Photographs coated the spaces in between the posters, each a picture of something different but oddly interesting. Many were weird angles of random parts of people, like part of an eye or half a hand. Something about them told me she had taken them all and each one was a glimpse into how she saw the world. I stood there memorizing every detail, because I wanted my daydreams to be as accurate as possible.

…at least I'm honest about it.

"Did you take all these?" I asked, pointing to her walls, wanting confirmation of my suspicions.

"Yeah, I know they seem kinda weird," she said as if she were embarrassed to have left them up.

"I don't think so – they're really cool. I like all the different angles."

Her face brightened once more letting me know I'd said the right thing again, "I do, too! Regular pictures are kind of boring, because they are all the same, all the people in the center, doing nothing, with their hands at their sides."

"Very true."

"Could I take your picture?"

The question came all of a sudden, and when I looked at her with a blank expression on my face I could see barely-contained excitement on hers. And if I had any doubt about how much she wanted to, she was already reaching for the camera on her dresser.

I didn't want to say no, but at the same time I was only experienced with the boring, hands-at-the-side family photo or the stupid, slutty ones I'd send to boys if I needed them to do something for me. I didn't know what to do with this request, especially since I was already so far out of my depth.

Then again, this is Brittany I'm talking about, "Sure, if you want."

Her smile widened and she bounced a little on her heels, "Sweet," she said and proceeded to not take a picture of anything. She just held her camera while observing me with a critical eye.

I fidgeted, because the suspense was too much, "Should I pose somewhere or something?"

"No, you're fine."

A heavy silence fell, with her merely staring and me panicking. Silence is my bane and here it was in surround sound.

We had spent a couple of Saturdays together talking nonstop, but now that I was alone with her in her house – in her _room –_ I had nothing to say.

But then Quinn's stupid, snide remark was in my head once more and I decided to step up again. I was still scared, so much so my hands were shaking a little, but I pretended like the day couldn't have been more average and stretched. With that same casual air I walked over to her bed and sat down. Yes, I almost lost my train of thought when doing that caused that sweet smell that was pure Brittany to overwhelm me, but she didn't notice so I kept calm and carried on.

"So how does your school day work? I mean, you leave your job at six, so you can't be there too long."

Brittany twisted her camera in her hands in thought, "I get up super early for my lessons and by about three we're done with all the important book stuff, after that it depends. Most days after that I go to work, but sometimes I have to take a day off if we have a special project like when we made the garden. I don't spend a lot of time at work, just three hours on average."

"Why only three?"

She turned and leapt easily onto the bed, bouncing me up a little, "'Cause my parents don't want me spending too much time on it. Well…" she paused, her face scrunched up with the effort of trying to figure out how she wanted to phrase her words. "My mom says it's a waste of time, because she thinks being a waitress is a dumb job, but my dad thinks it builds character and I begged really hard, because I didn't want to only hang around the kids in my homeschool group."

I wasn't aware of how hard I was staring at her while she spoke. I watched as she pulled her legs under her, as she tucked her hair behind her ears, as she twirled her camera as if she didn't know what to do with it. So when she turned to face me and those eyes finally met mine, I felt my heart flutter.

She was so close.

It would take nothing to lean over and kiss her.

That wasn't true; it would take bravery I didn't have yet.

"Uh, how does a homeschool group work? Doesn't it seem like if you've got a bunch of teens together then you have a school again?"

"It does, but it's really different when all of your teachers are your parents or adults you know. All the parents in the group teach each other's kids a different subject, so I have someone different teaching me on most days of the week."

I couldn't keep from looking surprised, "Really? I always thought being homeschooled meant you and your parents all day every day."

"It can mean that. It's different depending on the house – there is no official homeschool handbook. I know, I looked when I was trying to make a power point about how I should be allowed to work. The only thing that really matters is that we can pass the tests we have to take to prove we are learning."

I laughed, "Maybe I should sign up to be homeschooled."

"It isn't that fun," she said and her enthusiasm waned a bit.

Not wanting that to happen again, I asked, "So did you finally think of how you want to take this picture?"

She only laughed, "I've got plenty for now, though I might want to take more later if that's okay with you."

I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment, "You've been taking pictures this whole time?"

Worry clouded her face as she tucked the camera in her lap, "You said it was okay…"

"No, I mean, it's fine. I just thought it would make some sort of sound." My need to placate her superseded my crippling mortification.

"Not this one, it's special," she said, back to looking proud of the contraption in her hands. "It's digital and usually they make a sound when the picture is taken, but Artie's dad helped me stop that. I did it as a special project a few years ago."

"Why would you bother?" I asked, glaring at the camera even thought the lens wasn't pointed at me any longer.

"Because when people hear a camera click they get guarded. I prefer natural pictures."

I couldn't argue with that. If I'd had the slightest clue she was photographing me, I would have probably fallen off the bed trying to act 'natural'.

"If it's digital, then let me see what you took," I said reaching for the device, but she pulled it out of my reach.

"No way! Until they are printed a photographer's pictures are private," and even though there was a smile on her face I knew she really meant it.

"How good are you at taking pictures by randomly spinning your camera? You should check them now to see if they're any good." It was a desperate, desperate try.

"I'm the best. Everyone thinks I'm pretty terrible, 'cause I don't use a camera the normal way, but I always get what I want in the shot," she replied confidently.

I sighed and could only hope that her love for taking partial pictures would keep her from seeing the unguarded adulation that tended to be on my face when I thought no one was paying attention.

I was quiet for a moment, because I could tell Brittany was considering something, but then she leapt up and put her chest in my face and any sense of who or where I was left.

I'm sure she didn't mean to, I think she even apologized after she grabbed what she'd wanted from the shelf above my head, but my ears were ringing too loudly to actually know for sure.

"Look," she said, handing me the thick binder she had retrieved from the shelf I hadn't noticed was above me.

At first I opened it to give me a way to hide my embarrassment, but when I saw what was inside, I had to smile. There were countless pictures of odd parts of her cat: the tip of his tail, a skewed undershot of his chin, part of a paw. All were collected in a binder that was about as big as he was.

"I took that one, 'cause I wanted to know what birds see when they look at him," she said, pointing to a picture she had taken, clearly up a tree, with Lord Tubbington directly below her.

I tried not to chuckle, because that was really adorable. Like with most things I try to repress, I failed.

"Did you mostly take pictures of your cat?" I asked, flipping through the pages.

She nodded, "He's the only friend I have that'll let me take a bunch. Nobody else likes getting their picture taken a lot. I do have another binder full of random stuff, but Tubs gets his own, because he's so cute."

If I were more like Fake Santana I would have been brave enough to ask if I would get a binder of my own, too.

I also would have held the hand that was so close to mine.

But I wasn't, so I didn't.

There wasn't enough internal reprimand to spur me on to even try. This was the limit of my bravery, because the fear of all the ways it could go wrong were about as horrifying as the prospect of telling abuela the truth.

I could have made up a bunch of lies about how 'now isn't the time', or 'I'll try again later', but I had at least come far enough to not bother with that anymore. I wasn't making a move, because I was scared to chase her away and I didn't see that fear diminishing over time.

So I let her show me her albums, and threw in compliments where I could. I stayed until I had to head home and when I did so it was with an air of depression. When I went inside, abuela saw my mood and asked about it. Of course I lied and said it was a rough day at school. She gave me a sympathetic hug and kiss before she made me a plate for dinner and allowed us to eat in front of the television in the hopes of raising my spirits.

It only made me feel worse. I was at a point in my life where everything was a negative and I didn't know what to do.

Well… actually, I did.

* * *

Admitting that Quinn was right was a hard pill to swallow, and I did it with as little dignity as possible. For the rest of the week I avoided talking to her about anything even remotely related to our fight club debate, because I didn't need four full days of I told you so's.

However, once Friday evening came along, no amount of silence would keep her from seeing me walk up and, subsequently, admitting defeat. Oddly, as afraid as I was of Quinn, I still preferred her potential wrath to the possibility of seeing disgust in the eyes of those I cared about. So I went to the clearing behind the bleachers, ready to learn whatever she was teaching.

She saw me coming and waited until I was by her and Berry before saying, "That didn't last long, and I thought your chump ass was quitting."

Y'know, honestly, I would have been more concerned if she hadn't said anything. I have always known her silence to be far more worrying than any of the snide shit she tended to say.

"Changed my mind."

"Knew you would. To be fair, I really did think you'd last longer than a week," she laughed.

I ignored her and Berry stood there looking uninterested in anything we were talking about.

"Can we start?" Rachel asked and I had to wonder what had her so eager to punch someone.

"Hold your tiny, little horses, we have some new members joining us," Quinn replied.

I caught the plural in the sentence and my curiosity was piqued, but I knew better than to bother asking. Instead, I sat down in the grass next to Rachel where she was shredding grass like someone too nervous to hold still.

"What's got you so worked up," I asked her, more to make small talk in the blanketing silence than out of any real concern.

"My dad is sick and getting sicker," her jaw was tight when she spoke and I could hear the sadness and frustration in her voice, "it's making everything I know fall apart and I just need to fight to calm down. If I don't, I'll probably destroy something."

That had been a little more information than I had been fishing for, "Where did you learn to fight?"

She gave me a searching, sideways glance, "What makes you think I know how?"

"You don't fight like any girl I know who hasn't been shown a thing or two."

That silence reached us again and I gave up, looking again to Quinn who had her eyes set on the main building, waiting tensely for our new members.

I wasn't even remotely fooled into thinking she wasn't listening to our every word.

The quiet was so complete that when she spoke again I jumped a little, "My dad taught me," Rachel said and now more than ever I could hear how bad the wounds she was hiding were. "He loves boxing and when I was little, we would watch matches together. I would always pretend to be a boxer to make him laugh, but it would always end with him showing me the right way to stand and punch. After a while all we watched were videos of me at school plays and home concerts, but I never completely forgot."

I didn't say anything, because I knew that story hadn't been for me, most things weren't. She was reminiscing over what she might lose and if she were as adept at this club as Quinn claimed, she would soon convert that pain into anger.

I did _not_ want to fight Rachel tonight.

"And right on cue our new blood is here," Quinn said.

I looked up to see Tina approaching from across the football field next to someone I didn't recognize. This new arrival worried me more than any other person in the group thus far, because she looked like she might be topping three hundred pounds.

The behemoth of a girl stomped closer to us and with every step I felt the ground shake a little harder until she was standing before Quinn with her arms folded and her chest heaving from the walk.

"Ladies, this is Lauren Zizes. She's a member of the wrestling team, so don't take her lightly and this is…" Quinn faltered, looking to Tina to introduce herself.

"Tina Cohen-Chang."

"Right, so, Tina, Lauren, our club is rather exclusive and may not be for you, but before we get started there are a few rules to go over. First off, you will discuss this club and what goes on in it with no one; if you do, I will find out and you will not be happy that I did," she went on as she began to pace, "No weapons, no personal comments, no strikes to the head, no dirt throwing, and sex is a valid form of fighting. If your opponent taps out, you must let her go, and attendance at every meeting isn't mandatory," her eyes darted over to me as she said so, "nor are you required to fight on every night you attend. But if it's your first night here, you have to fight."

I blinked a few times in confusion, because a lot of that was news to me. Though I had been putting Quinn and this club from my mind and vocabulary – even if she had spray painted her rule changes on my locker, I wouldn't have read them.

"What if we aren't good fighters?" Tina asked nervously.

"We're all novices, learn as you go," Quinn said back easily.

"I'm not," Lauren snorted.

"You're not a novice at wrestling, this is a bit different, tubs. Have your first match before you start to rank yourself."

"Please tell me we get to fight tonight," Lauren said to Quinn with a glare.

"You're up first; fight who you'd like."

For once I was happy Quinn was such an antagonistic asshole, because I didn't know what I'd do if that much person came at me.

"I'm tired of waiting, fight me," Rachel butted in, and without even waiting for an answer she stood in front of Lauren, her hands up and ready in tightly-balled fists.

Tina quickly moved over to where Quinn and I stood and Lauren looked amused by the girl in front of her.

"It makes no difference which bug I squash I guess."

"Are you ready?" Rachel asked, and I knew the steel in her voice meant that the conversion of her pains were complete.

"I'm always ready, are you?"

Rachel didn't answer. She only leapt forward and landed a heavy blow to a solid stomach. Lauren watched her do it with a half smile.

What worried me was Rachel had a similar expression.

She dove back in and unleashed a flurry of hits that did nothing more than make the bigger girl's fat jiggle. It seemed to make her happy, to be able to unleash her full power and have her opponent still able to take more, and Lauren seemed equally content to watch someone weaker than her go all out to try and put a dent in her. Eventually, the amusement wore off and Lauren decided it was her turn, so she picked Rachel up like she was a rag doll and slammed her to the ground.

There was a loud _thump_ and a strangled wheeze as all the air left her lungs and I knew she had to be seeing stars until she was grabbed and picked up, arms pinned to her side, and hoisted up above the other girl's head.

About then I thought we might have to stop Lauren from making another move. We'd never said anything about unconscious opponents, but I didn't want to have a precedent set that allowed them to be beat on. As it turned out my worrying was needless.

Not only was Rachel conscious, she had even more fight in her than before – as she was lifted for another drop, her foot shot out and hit Lauren right in her left breast. That made the wrestler's monster grip weaken and she was able to drop to her feet, of course Lauren wasn't so easy to escape, because that gorilla just scooped her up again, this time pinning Rachel's back to her front and squeezing. Hard.

I honestly thought I might hear bones crack as Rachel flailed and screamed uselessly, but since she didn't attempt to tap out, we let her carry on. Even when her face turned bright red and I thought her form might be swallowed into the behemoth behind her. But then she turned her head and bit Lauren's arm.

In my surprise I turned to Quinn to see if she would call foul. Her eyes never left the battle before her, but I knew she felt my gaze, because she answered my silent question, "There is no rule against it."

And she was right, there wasn't, but I felt there should be. Regardless, once she got free she reared back and kicked the side of Lauren's knee so hard the wrestler crumpled to the ground. In a move that surprised us all, she then leapt high into the air and landed elbow first into Lauren's solar plexus. That earned her the tap out and ended the match.

When the dust settled, Lauren had crawled away to catch her breath again, Rachel sat back where she had been before, looking unsatisfied, and Quinn stood with narrowed eyes as if that last blow had brought up unpleasant memories of her first fight with Rachel.

"Alright, Tina Chin-Chang – you're up," Quinn said after her brief, reflective moment.

"It's Cohen-Chang."

"Give me one reason to care," she shot back.

Cowed by her response, Tina timidly walked to where the others had just fought and stood there nervously, "I don't think I want to do this," she said fearfully.

"Tap out anytime," Quinn said with a shrug before giving my shoulder a push, "Santana's your opponent tonight, easy pickings."

I tried not to look as offended by that as I was.

"Anytime, right?" she asked again and I could see her bravery was stacking up a little, but not enough.

"Anytime," Quinn repeated.

Acknowledging my fate, I stepped forward and tried to ready myself, only to find I was being yanked back by my collar.

"Let her win," was all Quinn said to me before she shoved me forward again.

Unbelievable. All that talk about giving and receiving pain and she wanted me to fake a fight.

Fine.

So I did; I walked up waited until Tina was ready and let her wail away. At first I was worried she'd be some sort of martial arts master, but she was just an ordinary girl. She hit hard, though her punches weren't much when compared to the likes of Rachel and Quinn. I allowed her to swing at me for a minute before I started to hit back, hard enough to make her think twice about rushing me, but not hard enough to make her want to quit.

The fight was boring and I was bored of it, so I made an obvious grab for her that she was thankfully swift enough to counter. I fell to the ground rather dramatically and panicked momentarily as I wondered if Tina would try to pull a Rachel, but she didn't. Instead she grabbed my arm and twisted it. That was maybe the most painful thing that happened, but all in all I was more than happy to tap out and give her the win.

I don't know if Tina knew I was faking, but when she went to stand by Rachel, she looked rather surprised and happy with herself, and as she left my overlord approached, looking like a proud parent. Or what I imagined a proud parent would look like, I don't recall having ever seen the expression on my own.

"That was an excellent fight, and now Santana it is time for us to dance. Let's see if you have learned anything in your time away."

I wanted to tell her to stuff it, but then I remembered why I came crawling back. Brittany, abuela, my parents, my life, there was too much to face at once, and until I found a way to be a better person I needed an outlet for all the things I was feeling. I needed to fight, or live in my house pretending to be someone I wasn't so people would like me.

So I stood and faced her, and finally, _finally_ stopped trying to win. There was no winning, not at this, we were here to fight until one of us gave up. And I wanted it to be her, because if I could manage that, it would give me hope. If I poured all my feelings into physical rage and could take someone down, then maybe I would have a chance in the real world. My fear and anger had to amount to something besides shame.

I saw her smile a little, I think she could see me starting to get what she had been trying to teach me the whole time, and when she hit me, I hit back, but it wasn't at her.

I was going for every lie I had told in order to hide a part of myself that I wanted to share with those I loved; I hit my mother for never being there; I hit my father for being an insensitive hard ass all the time; I closed my eyes and sunk my fist into my own fears – and it felt really good. Even when they hit me back and beat me down, because in this arena I had the courage to stand back up. My fear of Brittany knowing the truth didn't cripple me, and her possible rejection stung as blows to my sides and arms, but it couldn't end me.

Here I was strong.

The point wasn't to win, the point was to survive. To take everything that was thrown back, every painful outcome, every cutting word, and fight back.

Outside of that stupid patch of dust we fought in I might crumble under the weight of my fears, but not here. They hit and I hit back with all I had.

I was so lost in our battle I almost missed Quinn tap my shoulder when I managed to get her in a choke.

I let go, and we stumbled away from each other, winded and bruised, but Quinn smiled at me with pure pride, because I'd shown her I finally got it.

Somehow Quinn had enough left in her for another round with Rachel who seemed positively restless. All I could do was lay on the ground and pant. As always their fight was epic, leaving Tina and Lauren in awe, but all I could do was think of my fight as I looked up at the stars above.

My body ached, but I wasn't in pain, because I finally understood. I was dumping all my shit onto Quinn and she was dumping hers on me. It was selfless and selfish at the same time.

Somehow it gave me hope.

It still sounded dumb.

And yet it was still true.

* * *

That Friday gave me a new boost of courage.

When I went home to my abuela I didn't have any trouble telling her that a human pyramid collapsed on me and when she brought out that awful-smelling ointment and rubbed my wounds better I let her with ease. Because there were so many more bruises she couldn't see and they were absorbing the guilt, leaving it to be safely stored until I returned to my weekly outlet.

And the next day when I went to meet Brittany I let her hug me and delighted in it in all the ways I knew I shouldn't, because she was squeezing every dormant ache back to life and I had no time for shame.

I decided to skip Breadstix and take her out to an expensive restaurant with a bit of a cocky swagger. Sure we ended up ordering Italian food anyway, but it was the thought that counted. I would be the best hetero friend she ever had and simply save my guilt, frustration, and loneliness for another time.

My disappointment in myself was much easier to take this way, to confine it to be dealt with at the end of the week.

I was still afraid, but not ashamed of my fear, and I still lied, but without all the self-hate.

That was for Friday. That was for fight club.

Today was Saturday, and that was for Brittany.

"Do you think spaghetti likes being cooked?" she asked me over her plate of pasta.

I considered her question as I chewed and took my time swallowing before I answered, "I doubt it, the water's boiling hot."

She nodded swiftly, "Yeah, but it's so much more fun like this," she said, picking up a random noodle and making it wiggle.

"Maybe it doesn't like being cooked, but it does it because it likes how it'll end up?"

Her eyes narrowed as she considered my answer before she finally nodded, "That makes sense. You're so smart."

The compliment made me accidentally snort my lasagna back onto the plate, "Well, that's not sexy," I laughed as I tried to wipe sauce off my chin.

She laughed as well, "Is too, you're sexy all the time."

Here is where I faced a rather serious dilemma that no amount of bruises could help with.

What she had just said would, in literally any other situation, constitute major flirting.

HOWEVER.

This was Brittany, her words were sometimes selected at random, so reading too deeply into that statement could lead down a dark road. And then there was the fact that I wanted it to be flirting as badly as I didn't.

I wasn't ready to face all that admitting my attraction to her would bring. The way I'd have to tell her we would have to be a secret couple, that no one could know. How in the hell could I form my mouth to say that she couldn't ever be around the people I called friends? That she wasn't cool enough to come to Puck's stupid, fucking parties where I would go to act like an unattached slut for every boy who looked interested?

If fight club had taught me anything, it was that I wasn't good for Brittany, but it wouldn't stop me from being her friend.

That said, I don't think I would be able to say no if she asked me to kiss her.

She didn't though – she didn't even dwell on the comment. She merely continued to eat as if nothing happened, and I felt it was best if I did the same.

"Sorry about you buying me dinner again, I'll be able to pay you back next week," she said bashfully as she pushed a meatball around on her plate.

"When will you get that it's no problem?" I said with what I considered to be a charming smile, "You don't need to pay me for anything."

"I know, but I want to. It's embarrassing to almost never be able to buy your own meal."

I took another bite of lasagna before I asked, "Why is that? I know you don't work that much, but it should be enough."

"It is, but I don't get to keep my paychecks or tips. My parents keep them and give me some of the money at first of the month as allowance."

My mouth fell open and my inner rebel raged, "Are you serious? You work your butt off at a second rate diner and they keep all your money?"

"Not all of it," she said quickly, as if eager to calm me down, "Just most. And they don't keep it, they put the rest into a savings account for my college fund."

I could feel myself calm slightly, "That's not _too_ bad I guess… but they should really let you do that for yourself."

Brittany gave a half shrug, "They don't trust me to handle money."

And the rebel was back in arms.

"Whatever! Let them think what they want, but I know you could handle it just fine. In the mean time, don't worry about being treated to a meal, you definitely worked hard enough for it. Consider me honored to be the one to get it for you."

Everything from her neck up went pink as she ducked her head and smiled, "Thanks."

"Well, look who it is," said a voice.

Here, now, with Brittany, it was the most terrifying voice I had ever heard.

I couldn't taste my food as all my senses were flooded with thick, raw fear. I turned my head, hoping my eyes would show me something other than what I knew to be there, but when I looked to my right, I saw Quinn standing there staring down at us.

I knew she knew that I had been hiding this. I also knew she could see my fear, and it made her wicked smile grow a little more.

"Hi, Quinn!" Brittany said enthusiastically.

"Hi, Brittany," she returned as she sat in the free chair next to her, "Why didn't you guys tell me you were going out someplace? I could have ditched my parents and we could have hung out someplace even better," she said, nodding her head towards a table further back where, sure enough, her parents sat.

"We just kind of ended up here," Brittany said softly with a shrug.

"Next time you've got to call me. My dad knows the owner of, like, every restaurant, even this one. I'll get your meal comped if you want."

"Sure, great," I said curtly, because I knew better than to assume she would simply let this go and I wanted to get whatever horror she had planned over with.

"Thanks, Quinn. I was just telling Santana how bad I felt about her paying for everything," Brittany said kindly.

As adorable as I found her, I really wanted to slap tape over her mouth.

Of course those wild eyes widened as they found me, letting me know loud and clear they saw straight through my friend ploy, "Does she? I can't even get her to buy _me_ a coke at school. You've made a philanthropist out of a miser, how did you manage that?"

"Um…" Brittany said, clearly confused.

"Quinn, I'm sure your parents are missing you," I snapped.

"They'll be fine for a moment. It is their anniversary after all – they deserve some alone time."

"And they brought you with them?" I asked, but her eyes turned from deviously playful to that hateful, dark, burning place that her inner demon lived and I let it be.

"Did you want to join us?" Brittany asked.

It was my inner desperation that heard a reluctance in her voice that really wasn't there.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Santana obviously wants you all to herself."

I didn't give a fuck what lived in that brimstone manor she called a soul, I kicked her in the shin as hard as I could.

She hid her reaction under a toothy grin and a roll of her eyes, "In any case, I don't get to see you as much anymore," Quinn went on, turning her attention to Brittany, and rubbing her shin.

"I still work the same hours," Brittany replied slowly, almost apologetically.

"I figured, but you see, the main day I had for coming by were my Fridays and now Santana and I spend those at our club."

I didn't even think twice about kicking her in the shin again, but she anticipated that and easily caught my foot.

"What club?"

Her eyebrows went up in embellished surprise, "She didn't tell you? It makes sense, I did tell her to tell no one, but since you two are so close…"

"What's your secret club?" Brittany asked me, her eyes were alight with eagerness and I could see Quinn in my peripheral, daring me to lie.

"Uh, it's a fight club," I said as quietly as humanly possible.

Her brow crinkled in confusion, "What's that?"

"I'm glad you asked," Quinn said before I could think to answer, "It's an exclusive club started by myself and Santana. It's where one goes to fight, but not to win, or to gain fame or glory. It is merely a place to tangle with your worldly woes and come out better for it."

She still seemed confused and her eyes drifted to me, pleading for clarity, "We spar," I said, and feeling Quinn's eyes burrowing into me, I adjusted my answer, "We fight. It's for people who want to actually fight their problems."

"And have their problems fight back," Quinn continued, "I like to think of it as a sacred, healing ritual for those who have problems too big to surmount on their own."

Her mischievous eyes were back on me and I knew she was just trying to rile me. This was what I got for hiding my friendship with Brittany: full exposure. She would do this for as long as it took for her to feel satisfied.

However, we were both surprised when Brittany asked, "Can I join?"

I knew I was giving an almost comical 'HUH?' look and the shocked expression on Quinn's face melted into that purely evil smirk I associated with the darkest corners of hell.

"It was started as a school function, but I was planning to reach out to other schools." She was? That was news to me, "I suppose I could make an exception for you, where do you go?"

"I'm homeschooled," she offered timidly.

If possible that evil smile turned even more so. I was forcibly reminded of the cartoon Grinch smiling until the corners of his mouth twirled around themselves.

"In that case it's fine, there's no conflict. We meet at seven on Fridays, don't be late."

And like a tornado, she came, did the maximum amount of damage, and whirled away leaving devastation on a sunny day.

I looked over at Brittany wanting to ask why in the world she would accept such an offer.

But then it occurred to me that the pretty blonde in the pristine house may have more to fight about than any outsider could imagine. I could see her wanting to join the club over the frustration of being home and micromanaged by overbearing parents. Who was I to judge her reasons? My only concern was that she didn't know what she was really getting in to, or more importantly who she was getting into it with.

I could have tried to appeal to her, to try and warn her against showing her face anywhere near McKinley on a Friday evening, but if I convinced her not to show, I didn't know exactly what would happen. I did know, whatever it was, it would be way worse than whatever fight club would offer.

Quinn would see to that.

We finished our dinner alone, and Brittany moved on to different topics easily, but all I did was try and think of a way this could ever end well for me.

* * *

A/N: More to come, hope you enjoyed reading. Leave a review if you have one in you. Your feedback is what keeps me writing because otherwise I would have left this fandom for good about midway through season 3.

This would have been done a few hours ago, but ffdotnet was being a jerk and not letting me log on and then I got distracted playing League again...


	6. Warning Signs

I woke up Sunday and for a split second, I was able to think of Saturday as a nightmare.

Then the truth of my situation came back to me and I groaned, pulling my blanket over my head and wishing I could find a way out of my own life.

Quinn was going to use Brittany to further whatever twisted agenda she was cooking up, and sadly that agenda seemed to feature me. It was all kinds of unfair, but instead of being disappointed in myself for letting it happen, I bottled that up for the end of the week and got up and dressed to greet abuela downstairs.

She was awake of course, trying her hand at traditional pancakes, which had her leaning over a cookbook, carefully reading, when I came in. Hearing me, she sent me a soft smile and scratched her head.

"I thought I would try something different this morning, but it's turning into more of an ordeal than I thought it would."

"Want some help?" I asked as I sat at the counter behind her.

She thought for a moment before she nodded, "Can you sift the flour?"

"Yeah," I hopped off my stool and moved to do as she asked.

Returning to my seat, I began my slow task, and was completely content to just work next to her in silence. My mom had never asked me to cook with her… well, that was mainly because she never cooked, but had she, I'm sure she would have never asked me to join her. It was pleasant and I secretly hoped that I could spend every Sunday like this. I was so happy I even allowed my imagination to go nuts and picture a future where Brittany joined us as my girlfriend. In this fantasy world everyone knew the truth, and there was nothing to hide.

It was a really nice place, so of course reality had to smash it.

"How are things with Bret?" abuela asked.

The name was so foreign I looked at her in confusion for a moment before I remembered my stupid lie.

"Oh, fine I guess, we're still just friends."

She nodded while continuing to read the book before her, "That may be for the best, you should get to know someone before you decide you want to spend your evenings with your face attached to theirs."

I laughed a little, "He's really funny, and smart, but in a way that's different from everyone else."

Her eyes came up from the cookbook and my heart jumped, because I worried I might have given something away, "You're really taken with this boy, aren't you?"

"Um," I licked my lips only to find my mouth and throat were dry, "Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"Es guapo?" she asked casually.

Es bella, "Very."

"Of course," she chuckled, "You should bring him by one day."

I almost spilled flour all over the floor.

"Uh, no, I don't think-"

She laughed louder and waved a hand at me, "Don't worry yourself, it was only a suggestion."

That may have been so, but my heart was still trying to beat its way out of my chest in its panic.

"Oh."

"By the way, Alberto called and said… well, he said a lot of things, but the only things that _mattered_ were that he misses you very much and that he plans to send us a gift."

Half of that was a pure lie. My father hadn't said he missed me, he never said anything like that over the phone. Those kinds of niceties were always lost under the urgency of whatever it was he called to say, and he always called to say something since he didn't believe in small talk and rarely answered his phone unless it was for work. It was nice of her to try though.

Gifts on the other hand, those were not unusual.

"What is he sending?"

Her attention went from the book to me, and her expression wasn't readable, "Keys."

I frowned, "To what?"

"His car."

Surprise was all over my face, my dad never let anyone drive his car, not even my mom.

"Why?"

A grin spread over her lips as she went to the refrigerator to retrieve a few ingredients, "When we spoke, he realized that leaving me to care for you, cook and clean all without a way to so much as transport groceries was cruel."

So basically he called for something unrelated and she yelled at him about our situation until he relented.

"You have a drivers license?" I asked.

She shook her head, "I haven't had one for some time, but you do."

I only blinked at her, because I hadn't driven anything but the rental car my parents got for me to take my test since they didn't trust me in theirs.

"Abuela, I don't think that's a good idea," I said slowly, it was awesome that she'd gotten him to concede, but terrible since wrecking his car was a fast way to get disowned.

"Don't worry about Alberto, he will get over his precious car being in the hands of his daughter."

"Not if it gets a scratch."

"Then I'll tell him I did it," she said easily as she cracked a few eggs into a bowl, "How were you even getting groceries before this?"

"I wasn't. They put money in a bank account for me so I can order out and buy necessities, I don't grocery shop though."

She stopped and stared at me for a moment, the look was piteous and made me uncomfortable since I wasn't used to having someone else see how dismal my life was and actually care.

I busied myself with the sifter, but she moved closer and placed a hand on my cheek forcing me to look at her.

"Lo siento, Santana. I raised him better than that, I don't know what happened to make him so careless."

"It's not your fault," I mumbled, trying not to let this sentimental moment get to me. I liked to play things as cool as abuela always did and she was making it incredibly difficult.

"I can't help but feel like it is somehow," she sighed and turned back to the bowl she had been stirring.

She sounded so sad when she said that; it made me wish my parents were better people for the first time, just so she wouldn't feel so disappointed. Something about them seemed to make people miserable.

I had to wonder how they ever decided they wanted to be doctors…

"It's okay, abuelita. They show they care, just not in a normal way."

I didn't know if that was actually true.

* * *

The very second the car door closed behind me on Monday morning I rounded on Quinn.

"I know you think you're clever asking Brittany to join fight club, but I swear if something bad happens to her, we will have a problem."

This was the opening speech I had prepared over the remainder of the weekend and I even managed to say it without there being a quaver in my voice.

Without blinking she responded, "If she's in fight club, it already has."

"I'm not kidding, Quinn."

"Look, I am aware your lesbian code of honor dictates you defend your nonexistent turf, but in case you didn't notice, she volunteered. I didn't so much as offer and she jumped right in, so if you have someone to take this up with, it's her."

"We both know what I mean, pretend all you want, but I am very serious right now."

Her eyes widened in mock terror, "Please don't go Lima Heights on me!" she cried before bursting out in a careless laugh and driving off.

All I could do was sit in my seat and sulk for a while, she held all the cards and it was a truth I was sick of.

"I don't have a problem with her fighting so much as the demented things I'm sure you have planned for her just so you can get to me."

"I take offence to that," she said as if it hadn't actually bothered her at all, and I don't think it did.

I sat back in my chair knowing it was a lost cause, "I don't get you, Quinn, I'm at your mercy and yet you keep on finding new ways to string me up and watch me struggle."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she pulled her sun glasses out of the middle console and I suspected it was to hide the lies her eyes would give away, "I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to mold you."

"Into what?! A street fighter? Another scared lesbian in a prejudice state? A whimpering, sniveling underling that does whatever you want? Because I am already all of those things!"

She was facing forward yet somehow I knew those eyes were on me, watching me closely, "I want to mold you into a savior, a holy deity that will rise up and do what everyone else is afraid to."

We sat in silence for a moment with me staring at her in complete bewilderment, then she burst into a fit of laughter that told me I had fallen for her shit again. Scowling, I looked out the window, determined to ignore her.

"Oh, don't get all grumpy." I was defiantly grumpy just to spite her, "So I am happy that our little club is expanding and I have some plans to diversify our activities, maybe give a few assignments."

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out through my teeth, "Why do you do this to me?"

Once again she ignored me, "The first assignment I want to be just us, to see how it goes. After that the club will wreak havoc on the school as a whole."

"Because?"

"Because? Because fuck them and their bullshit system, fuck the jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, and every other clique that keeps everyone miserable including the people that are in them."

That surprised me a little, "I would think you would be all about the segregation of the popular from the general masses."

Again with that confused face in light of an obvious statement, "What have I ever done to give you that impression?" When I didn't bother with a response, she surprised me by swerving into the parking lot of a McDonalds and shoving her glasses on top of her head. "For once, and I mean _one time_, can you stop being so self-centered and look at the world outside of your stuffy, depressing closet."

"Are you truly trying to tell me you haven't bullied the shit out of everyone in the school who dared to wear something without a label on it and _loved_ it. I have personally watched you plan out how to torment each individual member of the math club, you gave it more attention than I've ever seen you give a project in any class. The incredible effort you go through to make me squirm would be impressive if it weren't so irritating."

"How does that mean I approve of any of this? The system is shit, but be damned if I'm not going to make sure I'm on the winning end. And yes, I enjoy bullying those less fortunate, but that's what bullies are, people who take out their own issues on others. We both have issues and, need I point out, we _both_ bully our peers. What I assumed was that you understood it was all a show. If I really subscribed to the program that's set up for us, I would have outed you the second I caught you staring at my ass in the locker room, I would have made your life fucking unlivable and not given a single shit."

How did she form these arguments? How did she always make me feel like I was one step behind the rest of the world?

"Yet you still tease me about being gay-"

"Because it's stupid that you're still hiding it!" she snapped, "If you come out, it will be hell, and I won't stand by you at all, but I would be proud of you for having the courage to do it anyway."

"So you, what? Hope that by bullying me I will gain the strength to come out?"

"No, I do it because it amuses me."

I could _not_ tell if she was being serious.

"You can't try and talk your way out of being a shit friend, you dangle my sexuality around like you will reveal the truth if I don't do what you want."

She sat back and sighed, "I might, or maybe I'll blurt it out to Brittany," my head tingled from the rush of fear, "I won't tell you that's not true, but again, just because I use the system doesn't mean I agree with it."

With that she put the car in drive and took us the rest of the way to McKinley.

Once we arrived I spent the rest of my morning thinking about what she said to me, and more so when lunch rolled around and Rachel walked through the cafeteria. Quinn called her out on her clothes and hair which all looked rough and ruffled, the bags under her eyes spoke of a sleepless night at a hospital, watching a loved one wither away. It didn't stop our dear club leader from throwing hateful words at her. The other girl only glared softly and I clearly saw it as a promise to make her tormentor pay later.

She didn't even run away.

Rachel grabbed a tray and ate her lunch quietly while the jocks continued to bounce Quinn's slurs back and forth between them and laugh at her.

All her sorrow and rage was reserved, just like mine. She wasn't going into the bathroom to crumble into nothing and come out later after having to lie to herself about the future getting better. The iron clad truth was that on Friday it would get better.

I had to grudgingly admit that fight club did seem to really help its members. Quinn could have kept chipping at her, breaking her into nothing, instead she offered Rachel a chance to let out all the pain she was being socially pressured into inflicting.

It was weird to start to understand the thoughts in that head.

It was weirder to think I should start to trust her more.

* * *

At lunch I found myself in the horribly cliché position of being one of many cheerleaders eating their lunch out on the bleachers. It had been Quinn's idea, the why escaped me and I didn't bother to ask.

Our leader sat demurely on a bleacher between Puck's legs while he sat on the row above like the king of the world, and, with Quinn as his arm candy, he was by high school rules. Finn tried to scrape second place by sitting next to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I let him all while swallowing bile from the suffocating heat he radiated onto me and the way I could feel his armpit sweat seeping through his shirt and onto my skin.

Instead of vomiting my guts out I leaned into him, because that was what fake Santana did, though even she was having a hard time with this.

"Should we go somewhere else? Ditch school and go get some real food?" Puck asked the guys.

The guys looked to the girls and the girls looked to Quinn.

"Maybe some other time, this is acceptably amusing," she said as she watched Coach Sylvester below on the field, yelling at several students who were falling behind in their laps.

The Cheerios tittered and agreed accordingly and the jocks followed them. It was the dumbest thing in the world and I could see how she was sick of it, even as the leader. Or maybe it was because she was the leader that she tired of it so quickly.

"Yo, check the fat one!" one of the over-muscled sheep bleated, pointing to a figure below who was so far behind even Sue didn't bother falling back to prod her on, "Hey, isn't that the tub of lard that tried out for the squad last year?"

Finally looking for myself, I recognized the girl as Mercedes Jones. She reminded me a little of Rachel in the way she always walked around like she could care less that she was laughed at everywhere she went. She had indeed tried out for the Cheerios once and Coach Sylvester had actually let her on, but only because she needed the strongest voice she could find to sing the Star Spangled Banner at a game some local reporter was attending. We gave her shit about her weight each and every day she was on the squad and even said horrible things about her _while_ she actually performed her big number. She finished the show and earned us a glowing review, which in turn earned our squad thousands of dollars in donations. Sue cut her right after because she couldn't touch her toes without grunting and after that I hadn't seen her much. When she was around someone always had a fat joke at the ready, but honestly after the few weeks she was on the squad even Quinn and her brainwashed cardboard cutouts ran out of ways to call her fat, black, ugly, and unlovable.

Though, unlike Rachel, it was much easier to tell when a jibe cut deep, and despite the fact that she could dish it out as hard as she got it, there was only so much she could do against us.

It was a shame, because she had a phenomenal voice and a kind personality when she didn't have to fight off wild Cheerio attacks.

I still want to tell her how wonderful her performance was at the game.

"She got cut for being unmarketable, who cares how good her voice is if her ass keeps eating her pants," Quinn laughed.

Everyone laughed along, myself included.

It hadn't been particularly funny, and I could tell Quinn wasn't even trying, she was distracted in her own mind, over what exactly I couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Watching her try to run is so hilarious we should ask coach to let her back on the team. I think it'd be pretty funny to watch her try to do a jumping jack," one of the freshman Cheerios said.

She was one of a million identical faces and I surprised myself by realizing I had no idea who she was.

"No, her wheezing made it hard to hear the music," some other girl answered.

"Maybe she would want to join," Quinn said thoughtfully.

I didn't think she was talking about the Cheerios.

"Naw, babe," Puck piped up, "She'd encourage all the other girls to get all fat like her," though the way he was looking at Mercedes suggested he wasn't as bothered by her curves as he pretended.

"Yeah, that'd suck," Finn offered.

That was so lame I turned to him and raised an eyebrow in an effort to see if there was a real person behind his eyes or if there was a tiny alien piloting an oversized, human-shaped ship, trying to fake its way through human interactions.

I was distracted from my riveting staring contest by a rumbling in my pocket; I pulled out my phone to see I had a text from Brittany. The joy that filled my chest must have spread to my face, because it piqued Quinn's interest in my actions immediately.

"Who is it?" she asked and my world stood still.

I had never uttered Brittany's name to anyone but her before and I did not want to know what would happen if she were to announce that I was keeping in contact with a homeschool girl. Though she was probably the most popular girl at her school, it obviously wouldn't impress them.

"No one important," I lied.

"Is it Brittany?" she said like it wasn't a big deal.

"Who's Brittany?" Puck asked right on cue.

Now my insides twisted for a different reason, because if somehow Quinn found a way to work this into Brittany meeting our toxic little group he would not hesitate to do everything in his power to end up in her bed.

"This girl who works down at the Burger Shack, she gives us discounts on food, she's cool."

"Can she hook us up, too?" he asked.

Quinn slapped his knee, "Abusing privileges is exactly how you end up not getting them. Maybe I'll bring you a burger one day."

Puck nodded his approval and just like that the group was at ease, the conversations went on and Quinn pressed no further. We had never gotten any sort of discount from Burger Shack, and even if I had I would spend the cost of the meal on tipping the waitress. She had lied for me, for Brittany, and I didn't know why, with a few simple words she had given her blessing to the socially unacceptable and granted her favor.

I couldn't help but think how easy she could make my life if she decided to.

Instead of dwelling on the impossible, I opened my phone and looked at the text I had been sent.

**Can't wait 4 friday! Should I bring nething special?**

That made my stomach drop again, because it reminded me of what was coming.

**Nope :) You sure you want to come? Its sorta violent.** I sent back, hoping to change her mind.

**I cn take care of myself XP**

I frowned at the last text. It worried me that she seemed to think this would actually be fun.

**I'm sure you can. **

I left it at that since any more would either scare her into not coming, which would end poorly, or make me sound like a whiner, which I am, but she didn't need to know that.

That left me with nothing to do but worry for the rest of the week, and with every day that passed and every happy text she sent me, my trepidation grew a little deeper.

* * *

Friday I was a nervous wreck.

The seconds dragged by, every time I looked at the clock time seemed to have gone back an hour. I was so worried that when Cheerios practice rolled around I honestly believed I might be having a panic attack.

Quinn could be planning anything.

And then it hit me right in the middle of a midair flip: She was going to make me fight Brittany.

The sudden realization made me fuck up my landing and earned me a five minute, derogatory, public lecture from Sue. While she ranted on all I could do was worry that the master plan was to make me fight the person I couldn't imagine hurting. I could say no, I _would_ say no, but what would that mean? Would Quinn cook up some weird punishment or was the angle that Brittany might be hurt by my refusal.

When seven o'clock finally hit, my head was spinning with the possibilities, my pulse was through the roof and once I reached our little patch of dirt, I was sure I was already sweating.

I pulled myself together, not wanting Quinn to see how worried I was, though I was sure she already knew.

Tina, Lauren, Quinn and Rachel showed up one after the other, making me think for a moment that maybe my nightmare wouldn't come true this night, but then Brittany appeared from the far side of the bushes in a shorts and shirt combo jogging and waving as she came.

I wanted to cry, because I knew this was going to be the hardest night of my life.

"Hi, I'm not late, am I?" Brittany asked as she joined the group.

"Just in time," Quinn answered, and I could already see the twinkle in her eye that meant trouble.

"Great, so how does this work?"

"The first rule is, do not talk about fight club," she began and Brittany nodded, clearly intent on remembering them all, "There will be no weapons, no personal comments, no head strikes, no dirt throwing, and sex is a valid form of fighting-"

"How does that work?" she interrupted and for once Quinn looked stumped.

"What do you mean?"

"Like how do you win with sex?"

Quinn's eyes snapped to me and mine hit the ground, "First person to come loses."

"Oh, okay."

When she said nothing else the list went on, "If your opponent taps out, you have to let go. You don't have to come every night or fight every night, but if it's your first night here, you have to fight. Last but not least, assignments are not optional."

That was news to us all and it was obvious that we all wanted to ask what that meant, but Brittany, having not noticed everyone's confusion, stepped to the center of our circle.

"Alright, so do I go first?"

Quinn chuckled quietly, "If you like."

"Who do I fight?"

"Whoever you want."

That seemed to concern her as she looked around the group and I could see how awkward it must be to be introduced to a new group of people then have to call one out for a fight.

Was this how she was going to force me? By coaxing Brittany to fight the only person she really knew?

I stood tensely with my hands at my sides hoping that somehow things wouldn't head down that path.

After a moment she stopped looking around and only shrugged, "I don't know who to pick, you can decide."

I closed my eyes and tried not to groan aloud, if anything _that_ had been her plan.

Quinn looked thoughtful and her eyes turned directly to me, I glared back at her, daring her to make me fight, because I could never hit Brittany in anger and there was nothing she could do to make me.

That, apparently, hadn't been her plan though, because she only chuckled again and stretched a little, "Well, I seem to be the starting point of choice for most, so how about the two of us go at it?"

I frowned hard while my brain tried to work this out, it took about two seconds for me to conclude that she was either honestly trying to know more about Brittany through the intensity of her fighting, or she wanted to beat her senseless in front of me while I stood and watched helplessly.

Both options were horrible in equally disturbing ways.

I panicked when I saw her smile and I had to fight not to send a pleading look back, but her attention was only on Brittany.

"Okay," she said easily.

Quinn nodded, that damn smile still on her face, and stood in her usual lax starting pose, leaving Brittany to scratch her head in confusion.

"Has the fight started?" she asked, almost as if she were embarrassed to need to.

"I'm ready if you are."

And with that they both just stood there looking at one another, I assumed they were both waiting for the other to make a move, and eventually Quinn came to that conclusion as well.

"Are you honestly waiting for me to advance?" she asked, amused by the standoff.

To my complete astonishment Brittany laughed, "Yeah, are you scared to?"

That caught Quinn off guard too, she had been called out and if I knew anything about her, it was that she couldn't handle that kind of challenge.

"I wanted to give you a chance to come over here and maybe land a few hits, I come over _there_ and I might overwhelm you, wouldn't want you to quit on your first day."

Brittany laughed again, "Sounds like you're really scared then."

Quinn laughed back, but I knew that had pissed her off and I was more and more tempted to grab Brittany and run off into the woods behind the school in the hopes of finding somewhere we could hide from her wrath.

I thought I had seen Quinn aggress on someone before, like myself or Rachel, but when she suddenly came flying at Brittany I realized she had never shown us the depth of her skills. She was fast, alarmingly fast, and from the way she landed a solid, full bodied punch to Brittany's gut I wasn't the only one who was surprised by her speed.

I winced as the girl I loved stumbled back and fell to the dirt coughing, Quinn stood above her with a satisfied smirk and asked, "Was that too much?"

Like she didn't already know she'd gone too far. She knew she had and she knew she was tormenting me.

At that moment the only solid thought I really had was: Fuck Quinn Fabray

And just when I thought I had been as surprised as one person could ever be, Brittany stood and dusted off her pants while rubbing her stomach, "No, that was fine. Try again, I can do better."

I thought she might show shock or reverence for her plucky attitude, but instead she used those snake fast reflexes to hit her again, and it is possible that my skewed vision for things concerning Brittany changed the facts, but I was positive this time she hit harder.

Brittany fell to the ground again and I couldn't hold my tongue, "Quinn, come on-"

"If she wants to tap out she can," she snapped, her eyes never leaving her prey, "You know that, right?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded as she got to her feet again, "I'm okay, Santana."

"See? She's okay," Quinn parroted back to me with that shit-eating grin of hers.

"You're more heavy metal than emo rock," Brittany said, still rubbing the spot Quinn had twice pummeled.

The smirk slipped a little as she turned back to her opponent, "What?"

"I thought you had a slower rhythm, but I was really wrong."

I wasn't sure if it was out of legitimate anger or just to spite me, but Quinn lashed out again so fast I didn't even realize she had punched until I registered that, for the first time, she'd missed.

Her fist was easily pushed aside and Brittany smiled at her, "See, I got it now."

Quinn yanked her hand away and quickly regained her composure, "You think you've got my number?"

"No, I only have Santana's in my phone."

Her eyes narrowed before she lunged forward, and the moment she did she found herself alone since Brittany had easily slipped past her.

Furious, Quinn rounded on her, "You can't just dodge the whole match!"

"Why? Was that a rule?" she asked earnestly.

I don't think I'd ever seen Quinn as angry and flustered as at that moment.

"Listen, B, this is a place for people to let out their pent-up aggression, this isn't a place to dance around, you come here to leave all your unresolved shit on the floor and walk away from it."

Brittany tilted her head slightly, "I get that, but I disagree about that first part, fighting is just like dancing, you just have to find the rhythm. I found yours and I think it's making you mad."

If she hadn't been before, with that statement, she was definitely angry.

Instead of responding she rushed Brittany in a fashion similar to what Rachel had done to her time and time again, but her opponent was one step ahead of her and leapfrogged over her back landing easily behind her while Quinn hit the dirt.

My mouth hung open and even the usually surly look on Rachel's face was replaced with astonishment. Quinn wasn't amused, she jumped up immediately and I hoped that whatever rhythm Brittany had heard had updated to death metal.

I was truly and honestly scared for Brittany's safety, this wasn't about worldly problems anymore. Quinn wasn't fighting for inner peace, she was fighting to win.

No, correction; she was fighting to utterly dominate her opponent.

This time she went with tried and true methods when she pulled an old favorite out to play. I hardly had time to blink before she whipped herself around behind Brittany and hit her square in the kidney.

A gasp left Brittany as she staggered back and for once I hoped the pain was intense, because she needed to tap out. I didn't think I had it in me to watch Quinn go nuts on her, I needed them to just stop, but of course they didn't. Brittany found her balance and rubbed her side, her eyes more focused than they had been before, and this time she moved first.

Obviously Quinn hadn't expected that.

Brittany dashed forward and reared up for what was a painfully obvious strong left to Quinn's face. I felt a fresh wave of panic over what would happen if Brittany broke the rules, and it was something Quinn wanted to happen given the obviousness of the attack that she had plenty of time to block, but clearly decided that she didn't want to.

In seconds I read her mind; she would let Brittany land an illegal blow, play up how hurt she was and either make Brittany feel miserable or use it to justify some horrible punishment. Maybe both.

However, Brittany wasn't so easy to predict, she swung hard and missed wide, allowing her to easily bend low and launch back up with her right fist directly into Quinn's side. It wasn't quite a kidney punch, but it landed with such force it hardly mattered, and with Quinn having lowered her defenses to accept a blow to the face that never came, she was completely unprepared.

This time she stumbled backwards, but Brittany kept up, and in desperation she threw out a fist, but it was caught and Brittany leapt back easily, pulling her hard, forcing her off balance. Desperate not to fall, Quinn tried to scramble to right herself, but Brittany put one of those deviously long legs in between hers and she fell flat on her face.

And with her wrist still being held I knew it hurt like hell, but the stubborn ass only spun and kicked out. The foot was caught as well and everyone watched in amazement as Quinn was lifted, spun in a wide circle by the leg and flung to land gracelessly on the ground.

She lay there for a moment, and we were all silent. I was the most alert, seeing as how I fully expected her to jump up and kill us all.

Instead I heard her laugh a little as she tapped the ground next to her, "That's it for me."

With that she stood and brushed the dust off her clothes.

Brittany smiled and did a little fist pump while sending me a wink that I totally wasn't ready for, so when she came over to stand by me, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

"Was I okay?" she asked me quietly as Tina and Rachel moved to stand off.

"That was pretty good," I didn't really have words for what that was, dangerous was the most appropriate one, but that might scare her.

"Did you win the first time you fought?"

"No," said Quinn as she took her place at Brittany's other side, "And this club isn't about winning, it's about fighting until you're satisfied."

Her voice wasn't harsh or angry, but I was still suspicious of her mood, Brittany on the other hand was oblivious, "Satisfied with what?" she asked.

"With yourself."

Brittany thought that over while Rachel proceeded to start and finish the shortest fight the club had seen to date. Tina caved after a single volley of Rachel's rib-warming punches, though to her credit she took her spot in the outer circle looking winded and hurt, but not discouraged.

"Your turn," Quinn said, nodding me over to where Rachel stood, ready and waiting.

A stronger version of me would have protested her sending me off, because I knew she was only doing it to have a moment with Brittany without me there to police her.

But as I have explained time and time again, that strong, willful person is not me.

My match went more poorly than it had to, half of the problem was my unshakable need to watch Quinn speak quietly with Brittany, the other half was my desire to let more hits be landed than were strictly necessary. I still felt I deserved to be punished for allowing Brittany to be sucked into this mess.

I tapped out after a hit that made me think I might never see the full use of my right arm again. Rachel didn't look thrilled with our match, but she backed off and allowed me to return to my spot by Brittany.

Quinn had already turned her attention to setting up the next match, and I decided to play it cool by not grilling her about the encounter. Instead I watched Quinn climb the mountain known as Lauren.

She didn't come out better for the trade, making it her second time getting dominated in a fight and I couldn't help but think it had something to do with Brittany messing up her rhythm.

Whatever was said between them had Brittany quietly watching the fight at my side, she didn't ask any of her oddly astute questions or make a quirky observation. She just stood there, and the longer she did the more worried I got. The Lauren vs Quinn match didn't take long and with one almighty power slam prompting a tap out from Quinn our club had reached its end.

I turned to Brittany to ask her how she was going to get home, but my question died on my lips to the sound of Quinn's voice, "Before you all leave, I have an announcement to make."

Her words made us all turn and pay attention even though we had no obligation to, we were fighters and yet I still felt like a Cheerio, a frail little puppet tied to her fingers.

After dusting off the proof of her complete and utter ass whooping, she cracked her neck and continued, "Starting this week, I will begin to give out assignments. Some will be for the group, some will be for individuals, all will help improve our overall quality of life."

Something about that stank of a lie, maybe I recognized it because I told so many on a daily basis, though it could have been the idea of Quinn concocting anything that benefited someone other than herself that was ringing all the warning bells in my head.

"This week I'm planning something special with Santana," the bells were sounding twice as loud, "as a show of good faith. After all, it wouldn't be fair for me to ask you all to do something that I wouldn't be willing to. After we succeed," she paused to turn slowly to Lauren who seemed surprised to be addressed, "you're first on my list for our second project. Also the rule regarding the secrecy of this club must be kept, but if you know someone who you think should join tell me and I'll scope them out."

With that she turned and left, like we were all on speakerphone and she'd just hung up. It irked me, but with Brittany starting to follow I let it go.

"Hey, Brittany, do you have a ride home?" I asked, trying to sound casual as everyone else walked off.

No one else was stopping to talk, but I was banking on the fact that she would be too busy talking to me to notice that.

"No, do you?" she asked.

Quinn usually, if I desired to chase after her and beg for a ride, "I walk. Want to keep each other company on the way?"

One of her vibrant smiles spread over her lips, the one that makes my willpower fade faster than one of Quinn's threats.

"I'd love that," her reply was instant, as was her taking my arm in hers again, like it was completely natural.

I started walking, keeping my mouth shut until we were well away from the school. I didn't plan to burst out in some great confession of love, but I needed whatever I did say to be private. Moreover, even if I wanted to talk before we reached the main road, I would have been too flustered to do so. I had been in her presence enough not to be a drooling mess every time we spoke, but when my arm was nestled so closely to her breast, I needed a moment to compose myself. Thankfully I was able to get my shit together and speak intelligently.

"So, uh, what did Quinn want?"

Mostly intelligently.

Brittany bit her lip in that endearing way she had, "She just wanted to explain the club to me better, and I get it now – it's not really about fighting at all."

"It isn't," I agreed quietly, praying she wouldn't realize that it was for pathetic losers with unsolvable life problems to gather and try to be less so on such a regular basis.

"She said a bunch of things I didn't understand, I think she just likes to hear herself talk," I had to stifle a laugh, "But I get that fighting is a way to communicate things that can't be talked about."

"We're all trying to sort out our problems," my reply was even quieter than the first, I didn't want to call attention to the fact that I had problems, but I was sure it was pretty obvious.

I doubt it worked since _I_ was thinking so hard on what hers could be.

"I'm surprised a club like that is even allowed."

I stopped in my tracks. It hadn't occurred to me to tell her we were breaking school rules, "Strictly speaking we aren't an official club, we would be in a lot of trouble if someone in authority knew what we were up to."

A half smile spread across her face, "That makes way more sense."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, it seemed weird to me that there weren't any teachers at a school club, even a secret one."

Tentatively I began to walk again, "And it isn't weird to you that we all come out here and fight?"

"No, I had fun even if I messed up everything for Quinn by not fighting right."

"You didn't mess anything up, you were great. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

She laughed and I knew I could never get enough of that sound, "I don't know how at all, I was sort of dancing with her, which is a lot like fighting. You get in someone's space and react to their actions, only in dancing you want to avoid painful collisions."

"You must dance a lot then," I said in awe of her ability to translate dance into defense.

A hum of assent floated to my ears, "It's the only thing I can do that doesn't make people look at me like I'm stupid." I looked appalled that anyone could think that of her ever, and when her eyes met mine she was suddenly shy. "People think I must be super smart because I'm homeschooled, but my grades aren't that great. I try really hard, but my parents kind of gave up on me a while ago."

That broke my heart, "Then they are complete idiots. My parents are the same way, all they do is send me money, give me stiff hugs, and fly off somewhere across the country. They hardly ever call to even see if I'm alive."

She smiled again, but this one was sad in a way that let me know she didn't decide to stick around fight club for shits and giggles, "That's different. What you're talking about is neglect. They probably think the few things they do are alright, I'll bet they want you to be the best you can be, even if it's something you don't want."

It was a little surprising to realize she saw the heart of my relationship with my parents without having even met them, "I think it isn't that different, they long ago gave up on trying to actually control anything I do."

Her sad smile became a little wider, and in that it was even sadder, "They probably stopped because they know they can't. At my house, I'm a lost cause, and I know, because my parents sort of remind me every day when they spend more time teaching my sister than me. They just throw some coursework my way and spend the rest of the day tutoring her, and all my other teachers do the same. I even heard my dad say no college in the world wants a homeschooler with bad grades."

I stopped walking again and turned to her, "You cannot seriously tell me that your parents treat you like crap because your grades aren't good."

Her mouth tightened and those vibrant eyes went dark, like all the light had been sucked out by the dark shadow that clouded her mind, "It's not just my grades."

I knew an 'I don't want to talk about it face' when I saw one, so instead of inquiring further I took her arm once more.

We started walking again and I searched my mind for something else to say, "How did my pictures come out?"

"Perfect! I have a bunch on my wall already."

I almost tripped over my own feet at the notion. Brittany Pierce had pictures of me on her wall. Sure they were probably pictures of the underside of my thumb, but some part of me was in her room.

It was a struggle not to melt on the sidewalk.

"Can I come see them sometime?"

"I would love that," she said, giving my arm a small squeeze.

I couldn't help the pleased little smirk that inspired, "Y'know, I was worried you would see how crazy things can get at the club and be scared to hang around me anymore."

"It would take more than a fight club to manage that," she giggled.

"Good to know."

"Hey, I have a question," I raised my eyebrows to indicate that she could continue, "Has anyone ever used the sex counts as fighting rule? That sounds like it would be really awkward."

I covered my stumble by dropping down to tie my shoe, granted I had to untie it in a flurry to actually have something to do.

The last ones to use that rule had been Quinn and I, which meant it was time for another lie.

"Um, no, not that I know of."

"Oh, why is it a rule then?"

"I won't pretend to understand why Quinn does what she does, almost every week I come back to hear she added a new rule."

"She's a lot different than I thought."

"Yup, she can be a bitch," I affirmed.

"Not that… she's really desperate."

That wasn't a word I would ever use to describe Quinn, "For what?"

Brittany thought hard for a moment, "I don't know, but it isn't good."

I could have guessed that, "How do you figure that then?"

"It's how she fights, you can tell a lot about someone from how they interact with you, even more when it's something like dancing or, obviously, fighting."

"So I've been told, but I haven't really been able to pick up anything from other people when I fight them."

"It isn't something I _know_ like it's a fact. I guess you could say since my parents stopped wanting to be near me I've always been more sensitive to things like that. Always trying to figure out what exactly it means when someone actually does want to be close."

That statement tripped a silent alarm.

Something about it didn't quite add up, but I wasn't going to ask since my sixth sense told me the answers to my questions rested in the realm of the taboo.

I walked her home, she thanked me again for letting her tag along and vanished into her house before I turned to leave as well. With all the new information I had been given occupying my every thought I made it home, ate dinner, and went to bed before it hit me.

In the middle of the night my eyes snapped open when I realized what I had missed.

If Brittany gave so much importance to touch, what did it mean that she always held me close?

Between trying to convince myself that I simply wanted the untrue to be true and worrying that she actually held a modicum of interest in me, I was up all night.

* * *

A/N: Es guapo? - He's handsome? Es bella - She's beautiful


	7. FML

On Saturday, I was in Brittany's house once more, much to my everlasting delight. We were sitting in her living room, a room that was as idealistic as the house and neighborhood within which it resided.

The walls and carpet were white, the furniture was beige and all the wood in the room was a dark, rich oak that was polished to perfection. Either her family had cleaned it knowing I was coming, or they just kept it looking like an upscale furniture magazine for the day to day. I sat across from her, making weird paper people out of newspaper for reasons I didn't quite understand other than it was something she said she had to do and I automatically volunteered to help.

Her face was the definition of deep concentration while she worked, but my attention was on her. The way her hair fell slightly into her face, and the slight frown that took over her brow when she was twisting paper. The sunlight shone in brightly through the glass doors behind her, lighting her up like a featured piece in a museum of beautiful things I couldn't have. Seeing her like that made me want to just tell her how I felt, more than ever. In spite of my fear of rejection, and the knowledge that I could never be the girlfriend she deserved, I still wanted to tell her. I wanted to be completely honest with one person who wouldn't use the information to hurt me.

It would have been so easy, to just blurt it out, to get it over with and let the cards fall where they may. But I didn't, because as always I was running from my fears, from the harsh truths of reality.

I needed to stop, at _some_ point in my life I _had_ to stop.

Easier said than done… it's cliché to say, but so incredibly true.

I even opened my mouth to say something… then she looked up at me with that prize-winning smile and the Quinn-sounding devil on my shoulder reminded me that facing the darkness could well mean never seeing her again.

"Are you sure you don't mind helping me?" Brittany asked, nodding to the little stick man I had twisted into existence.

Shaking my head, I tossed it into the pile with the others we had completed so far and was surprised to see how big it was, time seemed to pass differently when I was with her.

"Positive, this is fun."

She seemed relieved at my answer, "I'm sorry I don't have anything more fun to do… actually, I don't even know what other teens usually do when they are over each other's house," she added bashfully.

Nothing as fun as staring at you, "Depends on the people. Is this what you usually do with your friends?"

"No, it's technically the same for me, it depends on who's over, but honestly it's the same thing. When Artie's over, we look at computer magazines and he talks a lot about new parts being made; when Rory comes over he talks a lot about his home in Ireland, I think he wants me to go there with him over the summer," she said, musing over her answer. "Sugar only talks about herself and how much money her dad makes, and everyone else comes over with the rest of our group. When that happens we play learning games for fun."

Her tone implied she didn't think it actually was, "What do you mean by learning games?"

"Like Monopoly, but you have to answer a trig question to get your turn and another one to figure out how many spaces you can move."

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, "Regular Monopoly is bad enough."

"I usually never get a turn, so I'm the banker. I can at least handle that."

"Don't feel bad, I wouldn't get a turn either. We should make a new game where we're both bankers competing for the other players to take out loans from us," I joked, hoping to lift her spirits.

"That sounds like at lot of fun," she laughed.

We went back to work, but when she leaned over to get a fresh newspaper her hair fell forward to cover her smile a little and I had to fight not to brush it out of her face.

The longer I spent in her presence the more I wanted to stop running. However, touching her in that way was too much, and kissing her was out of the question. What I could do was ease the idea out there, in my own illusive way.

"When I was little," I began, busying myself with another newspaper person to keep from having to look into her eyes while I told my story, "about five or six, I used to have this reoccurring dream about running from a dark, shadowy figure that gave off major danger vibes. For almost a year I would have a dream about the thing and after a while I was scared to go to sleep." I looked up to gauge her interest in my tale, it was encouraging and unnerving to see I had her full attention. "Then one night I stopped running and faced it. The thing turned out to be my neighbor's dog; in my dream he could walk on two legs and talk, so when I confronted him he offered me a lollipop and a hug while he explained that was all he ever wanted. It was a weird dream, mainly because my neighbor's dog was mean as hell."

"I wish I had dreams like that," she said, looking almost put out that it hadn't been her own tale to tell, "Well, maybe I do, but I never remember my dreams after I wake up."

I smiled at her, "The only reason I remembered that at all is because whenever I got scared after that I would think of the dream where I stopped and faced my fears to find they weren't as bad as I was sure they were." I paused, because I was about to take a heavy step into serious territory and of course I wanted the option to second guess myself.

"Wow, that sounds like your brain was trying to teach you something important," when I didn't immediately respond she elaborated, "I think dreams are the brain's way of trying to tell you things. It has a weird way of saying it sometimes."

"I thought so too, and I faced my fears all the time until I was about twelve when I got a reality check from school bullies that showed me that sometimes a dark, scary figure is just that."

I sort of regretted getting so serious on her, but I was in too deep now and it felt too good to stop. The story was a metaphor for my whole life, and it also just so happened to be true, I was telling Brittany one of the very few truths about myself I could share without worrying that the world would crumble around me.

She seemed to think really hard about what I said before she nodded and went back to her project, "I don't think the dream was trying to make you think everything would be okay always, I think the dog was a reward." She stopped as if even she didn't know what she meant, "What I mean is when you do something good you feel good, it's a reward your brain gives you for doing the right thing. So maybe your brain wanted you to stand up to what scared you and that time it was something nice so you would be more likely to try it in real life?"

I stared at her wondering how she could be so astounding and at the same time so very underappreciated.

Brittany was right, of course, and all I could do was hope that maybe she got the rather vague message that even now there were things I was running from. I was hoping she might be inclined to give me a reason to hold my ground.

But she didn't, so instead of looking her in the eyes and telling her I had been in love with her from the first moment she gave me extra fries with my meal, I went back to twisting newspaper into people because I am Queen of the Poltroons.

"Any chance of me getting to see some of those pictures?" I asked, and somewhere inside me real Santana was shaking her head in disapproval that I decided I would deal with on Friday.

"Oh," and I'd swear she looked bashful here, "Uh, okay sure."

She collected all the little figures we had finished and straightened up a little before she led me upstairs to her room. A place I still felt damn near honored to be allowed into. On the way we passed her sister, Dania, who was busy running the vacuum cleaner in the hall. The only things I knew about her were that she was eleven, apparently pretty smart and a weirdo, because she was cleaning on a Saturday instead of being a normal kid. She seemed nice enough though, and she looked similar enough to her sister to keep me from making any snap judgments.

Brittany saw her cleaning and offered to help, that made me fret a little since that would mean our non-date was at an end, but luckily Dania declined the help and all was well.

Once in her room, I didn't have any trouble picking myself out from the images on the wall with all of my pictures were twice the size of the others. There was an odd angle of my shoulder, including a little of my hair, another had a long view of my arm, and one was a clear view of the underside of my face. Each was unique, undeniably artistic, and thankfully not a close up of my pining looks.

"I feel like a superstar," I laughed, walking up to examine one of my knee which was foreshortened and upside-down, "What did I do to earn so much wall space?"

She bit her lip, "You're my best friend."

That surprised me.

With her homeschool friends I'd figured they would all be inseparably close, even if Artie obviously annoyed her a little, he had grown up with her, "Really?"

"Really- well, you're tied for first," she corrected quickly, looking apologetic.

"With who?" I asked, knowing I was going to hear that nerd's name and hating myself for even asking.

"Lord Tubbington," she said nodding over to the fat cat who was sleeping peacefully on her bed.

Upon hearing his name he stood, hopped heavily to the floor, and walked to the door, looking insulted, as if we had somehow made too much noise. He left, but not before giving me a hard glare.

Brittany watched him go before she leaned over to me, "You're in the lead between you two, but don't tell him, okay?"

She was completely serious and I found I was okay with that.

"My lips are sealed."

In my sad attempt to tell her the truth, I said, "You're my best friend too."

"Aw, you're just saying that. I know you and Quinn are really close."

I had to fight not to break down into laughter, "Britt, don't worry about her, you're _way_ in the lead. She's only in second place, because no one else is in the race."

Another hint of a blush reddened her face before she covered it by sitting at her desk and fiddling with one of the binders on it.

"Are these all the pictures you took?" I asked since I only saw a handful.

"No, I didn't put them all up."

That alarmed the hell out of me, "Why not?"

She shrugged, "They weren't right for my wall."

"What was wrong with them?" I needed the answer far more than I let on.

"Nothing, they were all great, but not all of them were wall material."

"What did you do with the extras?"

"Put them in one of my albums," she said simply, patting the one currently in her hands.

I wanted to ask to see them, but Brittany's line of evasive answers led me to believe she didn't want me to see them. The tragically perverted and hopeful part of my brain wished she had kept the others because they were appealing shots of my ample bosom that she wished to fantasize about in private. I didn't dare say that, and instead sat down on her bed to observe the pictures that were up, while enjoying the wonderful scent of her that still radiated from it when I sat down. It was as close as I could get to holding her and breathing her in and I would do so in silence, feeling no guilt for how creepy it was.

Maybe that's why my brain was so willing to imagine her drooling over private pictures of me, I suppose I needed to feel like I wasn't the only one repressing a deep-rooted desire.

There was no excuse for it really.

The issue was shelved for Friday.

She came over, sat next to me and we talked easily, like friends would when one wasn't longing for the other. I felt good about my performance, however, even though I had put my self-disappointment on a To-Do list, I knew waiting to fight wasn't going to solve the problem, only help me cope with it. I either needed to get over her or try telling her the truth.

I decided then and there I would tell her and let fight club be where I dealt with the repercussions.

So of course the next thing she does is flip on her computer and play her iTunes dance list for us to jam in her room to. I got a front row seat to the most sexually frustrating dance I had ever seen and TA-DA! I was back to never wanting to risk what I had.

Even I was bored of my back and forth.

After the private floor show she pulled me off her bed, forcing me to join her for the next song, I sadly didn't really know any dances that didn't make me look like a desperate slut so I let her lead me. I learned that dancing with Brittany Pierce was even better than watching her alone, and I say that, not as a horny teenager with a one sided crush, but as someone who could appreciate how good she was at it. How well she could move around me while guiding me to respond in turn. I could better understand how she could translate fighting into dance, because she was aware of my every move. I was also aware of hers, but that was more down to the horny teenager thing.

I was honestly doing fine with her so close, even with her hands touching me in ways that would have made my blood run blazing hot under normal circumstances. The way her hair would brush my cheeks, or how my own hands ended up grazing by places they shouldn't have, didn't even make me flinch, because fight club had taught me to save my grievances for Fridays, making it much easier to save my overactive imagination for later.

When I left her house, Brittany gifted me with one of her newspaper people and a quick kiss on the cheek that, combined with our hour-long dance session, left me more than a little strung out.

There is no need to discuss what I got up to once I was home.

* * *

As we walked into the school on Monday morning, Quinn was busy talking about some poor loser who wasn't popular enough to join our squad but had come to her in private and begged anyway. I was only half listening, because I was trying to think of a foolproof way to tell Brittany how I felt. In fact, I had been doing that all weekend.

The best I could come up with was a note. Something in writing, so I couldn't choke up or chicken out, and once she had it, the truth would be in her hands and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

But then I got to thinking about what would happen if someone else read it and my insides turned to ice.

"You're daydreaming again," Quinn interrupted, "What is the point of talking to you when you're always busy having a conversation with yourself?"

"It's almost like you're forcing me to listen to things I don't want to talk about."

"Whatever. Okay, today is the day."

"For what."

"For our assignment," she said with more than a little exasperation in her voice, "Skip fifth period and meet me in the bathroom."

That alarmed me, "What are we doing in the bathroom?"

"Nothing!" she snapped, "Will you calm down; how the hell do you expect to get anything done if you are freaking out about where we're meeting?"

"Quinn, would it make any difference to you if I said I don't want to do this?"

"What do you think? Honestly?"

"No?"

"Then we'll stick with that," and with that she left me in the hall.

The pattern seemed to be freedom on Fridays, repressed elation on Saturdays, brooding Sundays and worrying changes on Mondays.

Fuck my life.

I did it though, I went through my usual routine and when the bell signaling the end of fourth period sounded I went to the girl's restroom like I had been told. I wasn't surprised to find Quinn wasn't there, so I waited around like a weirdo while other students filed in and out until the room was empty. And even then I still had to wait. When the bell for the start of fifth period sounded I almost left and went to class, but at that moment Quinn came in with a bag of coffee in her hand and a devious smile on her face.

"Come on," she said before she backed out into the hallway.

I trudged after her, not looking forward to whatever we were doing. The halls were empty save for a sparse few who were late for class, and I was so busy watching them I missed that we had walked up to the teacher's lounge.

Quinn peeked in the small rectangular window in the door before shoving the bag of Lima Bean coffee into my hands.

"Replace the one in there with this," she instructed and pushed the door open.

I was uncomfortable with this in so many ways, I won't even bother trying to name them, "What? No! Why do I have to do it?" I whispered fiercely.

"Because someone has to be the lookout."

"I'll be the lookout, _you_ do this," I said, attempting to hand the coffee back to her.

"If someone comes, you will need to explain why you are standing in front of the teacher's lounge when you should be in class. You are a _terrible_ liar, so I will handle that, so how about you get moving before you have even less time to finish your task."

I would have informed her that I was an excellent liar, but she was right, I was wasting time. Whatever was in this bag was probably either crazy dangerous or illegal and I didn't need to be found holding a ton of it when someone in authority walked by.

Without another word I dashed in the door and located the coffee in question, switched it out and threw away the original. I was sure to wipe the bag for prints before I ran back out, my heart beating wildly, and relatively sure I had just done something terrible.

Quickly we walked from the crime scene and out to the teacher's parking lot where I knew Quinn wanted us to spend the rest of our class time, even though we could have easily gone back to where we were supposed to be.

She stood on the curb in the small shade a nearby tree provided and I was reminded of the day when this whole thing started. When she lit a cigarette and offered it to me that feeling became straight up déjà vu.

"I have to assume that your master plan for fight club was something more than trading coffee bags, because that was the exact same kind that was already there."

"You know me better than that."

I nodded and took a lungful of the thick, acrid smoke, "What was in it?"

I asked even though I didn't really want to know.

"Coffee…" when I raised an eyebrow she smiled and added, "mixed with a powerful, powdered laxative."

I choked a little as I handed the cigarette back, "Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"You know the teachers only drink that stuff in the morning."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

I didn't get how this fit in the master plan, so I only nodded, "Alrighty then."

She took another breath of smoke and blew it out as she looked over the parking lot, "This isn't just about giving the faculty the shits, it's about setting a tone for what's to come. That and to see if you would do what I asked without question."

I would, but her telling me I would irked me, besides, it was never without question, "I'm not your puppet!"

Her eyes squeezed shut like a parent trying to ignore a screeching child and that just pissed me off more, "I'm sorry, that was my fault, bad phrasing. I wanted to see if you would trust me."

"Trust you to make me drug my teachers?"

"It starts there and will only get deeper. We are going to run this school, everyone will know about fight club without actually knowing it exists."

I still didn't get it, but at least now I knew I wasn't meant to, "Fine."

With that we stood silently watching the birds fly and the sun burn every ounce of moisture off the earth.

"We've got a while before sixth period, wanna fool around?" she asked, and I knew it wasn't truly a question.

The idea of having sex with Quinn while trying to find a way of telling Brittany I loved her seemed inexcusably wrong.

My dislike for the idea must have shown on my face, because Quinn sighed, "Seriously, Santana, I know that you and Brittany are BFF's without benefits, so please don't be shitty and leave us both bored for nothing."

"I'm gonna go with no, and I would appreciate it if you just left it at that."

She gave me a long look that I couldn't read for the life of me, "Sure, I'm not going to beg." I waited patiently for the rant that would prove she hadn't really relented, but it didn't come. She just kept smoking and staring out over the parking lot like she had not a care in the world.

"What would you do? If you were me?" I don't know why I asked, in the heat and quiet it seemed like she might be having a rare moment of lucidity where she might help me.

"I would probably kill myself," was her immediate response.

"I cannot express how not funny that is."

She shrugged, "I wasn't telling a joke, if I were you and under this much stress I'd just fucking end it. Life is hard and it only gets harder, believe it or not these are the easy years."

"I don't think so, it has to get better." I had to believe that for my own sanity.

Quinn looked down at her feet as she flicked ash into the sparse breeze that reached us, "For some it might, for people like us every day we'll have to find a way to bury who we are deeper and deeper until we are actually buried alive under the rubble of who people think we are."

"You can be so uplifting, I'm glad we had this talk," I grumbled and kicked a pebble out into the blazing sun.

"I'm just being honest."

We were silent again, the only sounds were the occasional clangs and bangs from miscellaneous activities inside the school. It was oddly peaceful, even if the heat was enough to make me want to just go to class for the air conditioning.

I decided to break the calm once more because as long as she was being honest I wanted all the truths I could get, "The way you fight…" I started and stopped, wondering if I should bring Brittany's name into the conversation, and quickly decided against it, "You're desperate, I don't know for what, but you are."

Her eyes snapped to mine, not in anger, but in interest, "So you _are_ learning."

I nodded, "Yeah, I guess, so what's going on with you, Q?"

A chastising finger wag was my response, "Non, ma petite lesbienne, the point of fight club is to not have to talk about these things. If I wanted to discuss my problems, I assure you, I would have a long time ago."

"Have you _tried_?"

"Have you tried telling your grandma about your fascination with other girls' vaginas?"

"No, but at least I tried asking someone else for advice."

"Who?" she laughed.

"You, just now, and you told me to kill myself," I snapped.

"What? No! I said _I_ would kill myself if I were you, because if I were you, I would be able to do whatever I put my mind to."

That didn't make a great deal of sense to me but I nodded as I always did when Quinn's inner philosophy was a little too complex, "You have a pretty strong will."

"I do, but not for death, I could never do that to myself," she stopped for a moment and I thought she was done, but then she opened her mouth and said something that totally surprised me, "I'm too scared of what will happen afterwards."

I couldn't help but scoff a little, "_You_? You're scared of the afterlife? I thought all good Christians went to heaven."

"I'm hardly anyone's definition of a good Christian, besides regardless of which belief turns out to be the one truth that the universe follows, all I know is that when I go I'm not headed anywhere good. Be it hell, limbo, or the nothingness of space I will end up in the section where all the worst are lumped."

I had always believed the same thing, but it was infinitely shocking coming from her.

"You could just stop being such a colossal asshole," I offered.

She gave me one of those haunting, sad smiles that unnervingly reminded me of Brittany, "If being an asshole was my only problem I'd be in good shape right now."

I sighed heavily and looked up at the cloudy sky, "My abuelo always used to say that being young made problems seem so much bigger than they were. Usually old people are full of it with their proverbs, but after he died I was able to grasp the fact that there were worse things than my favorite tv show being cancelled or my mom not getting me the right color nail polish."

"That sounds a lot like a rephrasing of 'things will get better with time'," she grumbled.

"Things have to change, Quinn, we won't be in high school forever and we won't always be subject to our parents' crap. Is it really so wrong to at least hope that the future won't be as miserable?"

"Yes. Unless we change, our future is bleak, and I don't see the change happening."

That made me bristle, "Well, I'm planning to tell Brittany how I feel about her."

I don't know why I told her that, I guess I felt like I had to prove she wasn't right even though I fully believed she was.

To my surprise she laughed, loudly, "What exactly do you think that will solve? So you tell her, and I'll go ahead and pretend that she's into you in the same way – now what? Are you going to tell her parents? What about yours? Y'know what, let's pretend everyone's cool with it, how will you handle every other person in the world who will judge you? And God forbid she reject you, that means that your heart will be broken, making it that much harder for you to confess to the next hopelessly straight girl you fall in love with."

"I don't have the next ten moves planned out, I can only do one thing at a time!" I shouted back, because the truth hurt worse than her fists ever could.

"Unless you stop being such a coward you will grow into a beautiful woman with a close secret that will make you do all sorts of things to keep it. The path you're on doesn't end well, you don't need to tell Brittany a damn thing until you take care of you."

She was so fucking right it made me sick.

I had merely convinced myself that slow steps towards Brittany were what I needed, but I had no idea what I would do if I ever made it to my goal.

"And what about you, Q? What kind of woman will you be?" I asked with a bite to my voice.

"Me?" she asked softly before tossing her cigarette out on the asphalt, "'I'll be the woman that no little girl wants to grow up to be; manipulative, conniving and cruel. I will be the kind of woman who wakes up every day with the singular goal of breaking every person she meets the way she's been broken. I will become something so horrible I won't even want to be around myself, because I am such a two-faced viper."

I could totally see that being the case.

"At least we'd have each other," I muttered in defeat.

"Maybe, it would depend on knowing whether you give me any sort of leverage or if you could somehow be of use to me."

The clouds above covered the sun and suddenly the day grew slightly darker, "And you really think us fighting it out here after school will help with that?"

"I'm hoping so. Something has to break eventually."

"But why a fight club? Why risk so much on _this_?"

Quinn paused and looked over at me as if I had asked the most ridiculous question in the whole world, "Why? Because life is broken and rotten, sometimes you have to just take the reins and pull it into a devastating nosedive to have any sense of control."

"And so the plan is to have Rachel, Tina and I slap the bitch out of you?"

"Something like that."

With those words I knew our time of sharing was over.

Our talk had been enlightening, but in a way that was more disturbing than educational.

* * *

Quinn's weirdness that afternoon threw me off for the rest of the day. Every time I tried to think of confessing to Brittany I saw all the ways that she had been right about it changing nothing, and every time I thought about trying to fix that by coming out to my family I got nauseous.

With my supposed friend offering no usable advice, I decided I'd try a 'Bret hypothetical' with abuela when I got home.

A plan which was halted when I found her waiting for me in front of the house. This was unusual so I automatically thought it meant I was in trouble, especially when Quinn hummed the death march as I got out of her car.

I walked nervously up the driveway trying to look as innocent as possible and threw on my most charming smile in the hopes that it would deter any incoming angry lectures. When she saw me she smiled and stood coming to meet me halfway and I was finally able to calm down.

"Guess who just got a set of keys in the mail?" she asked, showing me what was obviously the key to my father's Thunderbird. "Will you take your old abuela around for a ride?"

For some reason I felt like I had been gifted with my own car when she handed me the keys. I knew it was on loan and I knew the condition of the car was directly related to how much my father would be willing to pretend to love me, but I was excited nonetheless.

The garage door opener was attached and I pressed the button to have the canary yellow convertible be revealed like a game show prize.

I never thought I would be glad to drive a Ford, but I couldn't have been happier if it were a Ferrari.

"Where should we go?" I asked, turning to her.

She smiled at me as she walked to the passenger side door, "Nowhere, anywhere, no importa, I'm just tired of being in the house."

I could understand that easily enough, so I quit asking questions and got in.

Being in the driver's seat of a car felt weird, and even more so in my father's car. All my life I had been warned to stay away from this spot and here I was, preparing to actually drive the damn thing. It took several deep breaths to shake the fear that my dad would pop up beside me and demand I get out, and once I felt calm, I put the key in the ignition and marveled at the sound of the engine rumbling to life.

Feeling the car beneath me – the tan leather of the chair, the smooth cover of the steering wheel – was pretty awesome, even the length of space between the seat and the pedals was perfect. I'd never had a thing for cars, but I was suddenly really into this one.

Either it was all the horsepower, or the sudden rush of excitement from the fact I had the ability to go anywhere I wanted that had me all flustered. More specifically, it was that if everything in my life went tits up, I'd have a way to escape this town, far and fast.

"This wasn't what I meant by out of the house, Santana," abuela laughed.

"I know," I said quickly, realizing for the first time that I had just been sitting there staring at the back of the garage.

For a moment I didn't move, because it had been a while since I got my license, but I had been taught to drive a stick, meaning my lessons had been long, hard, humiliating, and impossible to forget.

I backed us out into the street carefully and took off down the road at just under the speed limit. It's sort of embarrassing to admit, but it made me feel like an honest to goodness adult.

Abulela applauded softly, "Very good. Did Alberto teach you to drive?"

I scoffed, "No, when I was a freshman, I had a boyfriend that had a car, he taught me," I'd had to offer sex as payment for all the gear grinding from my missed clutch timings, but whatever.

She sighed again, and I knew I had just caused her to be even more disappointed in her son.

"I taught him to drive, your abuelo didn't have the patience. Every time he would try they would end up in a fight before they even made it to the street."

That sounded about right, both of them were wicked stubborn about doing things their own way.

"The guy that taught me wasn't a great teacher, but I figured it out."

"What was his name?"

I couldn't remember, "Keith."

The lie came even easier than usual. Quinn might not have been as batshit as she seemed. Maybe in ten years I wouldn't know the fake me from the real me.

That scared the hell out of me.

"Don't forget to signal," she advised as I came to the end of the line of houses and was forced to make a left.

"Abuela?" I asked the question, wanting to make another theoretical scenario about Bret or the fictional gay cheerleader, but instead I broke down and showed incredible weakness because the past few days had broken the shell of detachment I tended to keep up. "You love me, right?"

The question seemed to startle her, but she eventually smiled and chuckled a little, "Of course."

"Will you always though? No matter what? Like even if I become a drug addict or something?"

"You better not put a single pill in your mouth that isn't a vitamin or an Aspirin, but yes, Santana, I would love you even then."

I gulped, "I just…" in that pause I considered telling her, just blurting out my dark secret like I had planned to do with Brittany, but even with her assurances I was still afraid. Because in my family it was entirely possible that drug addict wasn't over the line while gay was. "I feel like I'm a mistake away from being abandoned."

Her face turned serious at my words, "You are a smart, beautiful, wonderful girl and you shouldn't worry so much about such things. I'm here and I don't plan to leave. I know your parents have been terrible about showing you the care you deserve, but know they have left everything to chase their dreams. I don't think it is worth what they have given up," she shrugged, "but it's not my dream."

Her words made me think that maybe – just _maybe_ – I could let her know the truth, but of course I had to put my toe in the water first. There was no jumping in with Santana Lopez.

"Abuela, about that lesbian on the cheer team-"

"Can we not talk about such perversions? I'm shocked she is still allowed on your team, what is your school thinking?"

With that I discovered the water was boiling hot, making me fearful of even attempting again.

"Yeah, me and some of the other girls'll talk to coach about it soon," I said, my throat tightening with every word.

"Good."

_Fuck_ my life.

Right when I laid the 'ask abuela' plan to rest I heard my phone go off, and the sharp look I got from the passenger side told me I better not plan on checking it while moving. So at the next red light, I fished my phone out of my pocket and saw a text from Quinn.

With a roll of my eyes I opened it and was a little startled to see:

**Fight Club Special Meeting Announcement – Tomorrow meet Breadstix 10 am Attendance is mandatory for students of McKinley High. There will be no fighting, dress casually.**

Lucky for me I had waited until I stopped, because that text would have sent me off the road. I just stared at it, trying to figure out what the hell she was up to, because she had lost her everloving mind if she thought Rachel Berry and Tina Whatever-her-last-name-is would skip classes to hear about her wanting to pull stupid pranks on the unsuspecting.

More than likely the task of making them come would fall to me…

**_Fuck_** my life.

* * *

Even though my abuela was completely content to let me drive myself to school and back, I was entirely too paranoid to drive my father's beloved metal heap for fear that either I would crash it or someone else would crash into me. Sure, abuela said she'd handle it, but I didn't want any more family drama than absolutely necessary.

That meant that Tuesday morning I got up, dressed, and went out to meet Quinn at her car. I was feeling pretty good about the day since I had put on my Cheerio's uniform and for the first time was able to avoid also putting on out-of-season leggings to hide the remnants of Quinn's lesson. Imagine my surprise when I walked down to the car and found her in a sundress instead of our uniform that marked us as McKinley's elite.

"Do we not have practice today?" I asked as I got in.

"You got my text, didn't you?"

"Yeah, that we're skipping school for the whole day?"

"It isn't skipping if there is no school."

I wasn't big on keeping track of arbitrary holidays, but I was pretty sure today wasn't one.

"What did you do?"

"No, what did _you_ do?"

Then I remembered, "The coffee? You expect that prank to get _all_ our classes cancelled?"

"Clearly," she said before driving off.

I didn't know how powerful the laxative was that she put in that bag, but now I started to worry that maybe that wasn't all she put in it. Then I started to worry that she'd put rat poison in it just to get me labeled as some sort of terrorist. A thought driven home when we arrived at school to find an ambulance parked in front with the sparse few students who were out and about that early standing around it.

I felt my stomach churn and I looked to Quinn fully expecting to see her bitch face smirking at me, but she seemed just as surprised as I was.

We pulled up in the student parking lot to see several teachers duck walking to their cars in no small hurry. That at least I understood.

Quinn watched for a moment in amusement before she walked off towards where the most students were gathered and I followed, because if I had killed someone I wanted to know so I could start running.

Instead of going straight to the peons and just asking, she located our 'in crowd' which consisted of Finn, Karofsky, and a few Cheerios.

"What happened?" she asked the question like she was the head of a crime scene investigation.

"All the teachers got the runs," Karofsky laughed, "'prolly something in the water, heard one of them shat her guts out, that's why the ambulance came."

I found that unlikely and so did Quinn since her eyes snapped to Finn. The dimwitted boy was at least smart enough to hear the unasked question.

"I think it was Ms. Pillsbury, someone didn't quite make it to the bathroom and she slipped in some poop," he said in that slow way of his.

Quinn chuckled, "She must have fallen pretty hard."

"No, I heard she didn't fall, but when she saw what she stepped in she fainted and no one could wake her up."

That sent her into an uncontrollable fit of laughter and left me feeling relieved that I hadn't killed our mousy guidance counselor.

"How many teachers dra- I mean how many are sick?" I asked, still a little nervous about what I had been a part of.

Karofsky shrugged, "All of 'em."

Quinn ignored his answer and looked to Finn, "Most," he clarified.

"Have classes been canceled yet?" she asked as she watched several teachers try to help their co-workers to their cars.

"Nah," Finn answered, rather pleased that he was being looked to for answers, "but that could be because Principal Figgins got it the worst, so he hasn't done any announcements or anything."

"I don't want to know how you know that," I said and frantically tried not to allow my brain to come up with theories.

"Perfect," Quinn said and turned to the rest of the drones like a dictator addressing the masses, "I bid you all adieu, Santana and I have places to be."

"Why don't we all go?" Finn piped up, it was almost sad to see that hopeful light in his eyes.

She looked back at him and there was no kindness in her eyes, "Sorry, it's a girls only kind of thing."

I then witnessed all the freshmen Cheerios try and fall in ranks behind us and being summarily ignored which was even sadder. They were red and white sheep in need of a shepherd, but we left them there, bleating in the care of two oafish wolves. The only upside was that Puck was usually quite late to school, so at least only incompetent predators were on the hunt.

Though looking at Quinn, I must say a shepherd is not an accurate description for her position. She's more like a butcher, keeping her flock in top shape for when she needs to sacrifice them.

That's more like it.

"How did you know this would happen?" I asked her as we walked quickly back to her car.

"I was pretty confident that no one would want to teach in a diaper."

"That's a safe bet, so what is this meeting about?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

I hated that answer so very much.

But I waited. I sat in her car and said nothing for the car ride to Breadstix, continued to say nothing during the hour long wait until ten when Rachel arrived and the additional forty minutes it took for the others to file in.

They were as quiet as I was, all of them looking a little nervous, and I understood why, because I felt it too. We were all from vastly different worlds within our school, meeting formally and not under the cover of darkness with intent to injure was rather awkward.

We ordered a few appetizers for the wait, and when Lauren finally appeared, taking up most of the booth Rachel and Tina were sitting in, Quinn began.

"Thank you all for coming relatively on time. Now as you may have noticed our school has had a bit of an epidemic." Only Tina bothered to nod, "This is thanks to myself and Santana," she said gesturing to us both. "Our assignment was to put a powerful laxative in the teacher's coffee prompting the school to close for the day. The purpose was to free up our morning for this meeting, which won't take too long. Afterwards you are free to go where you will, consider the free day a gift."

"Is this the part where you tell us why we're here?" I asked, unable to take her posturing seriously anymore.

She ignored me like my name was Karofsky, "Ladies, with very little effort Santana and I have demonstrated how easily we can cripple the school. I believe that with the talents and imagination of the people in this group we could use this power to our advantage."

"You poisoned our teachers to prove a point?" Rachel asked, looking scandalized.

"If I'd poisoned them, they'd be dead," Quinn replied flatly. "I have my own justification for today, however, there is a reason this was between Santana and I and not a group activity."

"Because I wouldn't have done it!"

I had to assume she knew her nonchalance was what drove Rachel crazy, "That's one reason, the other isn't any of your business. Now, Lauren," Quinn turned to the large girl and she seemed surprised to be addressed.

"Huh?" she asked stuffily through a mouthful of breadsticks.

"If you'll recall I have an assignment for you that we will work on together later in the week," meaning Quinn will make her do something stupid while she 'keeps watch'. "In the meantime, there is something else I want you all to participate in."

"What? Are we putting thumbtacks in teacher's shoes?" Rachel snarled.

"Look, I don't know how Bilbo runs things down at the Shire, but here in Ohio we don't interrupt people who are talking to make snarky comments."

If I were one to call her out on things, I would point out that was about all she ever did. Rachel's face went red and her eyes darkened, but she let her continue.

"_Anyway_," Quinn said pointedly, "I have a trophy, it's from when I was seven and it was the first one I ever got. I was on the Little Tumblers Lima gymnastics team and I practiced for about a year to be ready to compete in a national competition. Out of everything I've ever won I loved that trophy the most because my father of all people had been the one to help me every step of the way. It was the first time we really connected over anything, and it was him that taught me how to push hard and dig deep for the strength to win. His lessons and that win were the very things that inspired me to keep pushing and become the best damn cheerleader this state has ever seen. And as of last night I ran it over with my car. It burst into about a million pieces, because it was made of cheap plastic, and I collected every piece and burned it."

She moved to fiddle with her phone and I just stared gaping at her. I knew the trophy she was talking about, she had indeed showed it to everyone who she felt was worth impressing. Her parents were more proud of her cheerleading accomplishments, but that thing was her real pride.

"So you want us to help you fix it?" Lauren asked.

Quinn shook her head and held up her phone, showing the burned melted remains of what I assumed was her trophy.

"I destroyed it on purpose, and I want each of you to do the same."

"To destroy your trophies?" Tina asked, looking a little amused.

"No. To destroy something you treasure. Something that defines you as the person you are."

Rachel guffawed, "You have to be kidding!"

"I'm not."

"Why would I do that?" she laughed, almost giddy with disbelief.

"Because the person you are drove you to be here. That person needs to go, you need to separate yourself from the things that make you that girl and form yourself into a stronger being."

"And how do we know everyone destroyed something important?" Tina asked, "For all I know you don't care about any of your trophies, plus you have no idea what's important to me."

"I agree," Rachel said, "You want to impress me, how about you trash that needlessly expensive car out there."

Quinn smiled softly, and I leaned away from her, because that was the first sign of danger, but she didn't call names or rage, instead she took a deep breath and spoke softly, "You'll just have to take my word for it. And to be clear, I could wreck my car. Hell, if you want, you can go out there right now and fuck it up, but it means nothing to me and my dad will buy me another one before you could finish ruining the paint job." With that she turned to Tina, "As for how I'll be able to tell what really matters most, you are correct, I wouldn't know. So that's why you will all tell the group what you plan to destroy and we will decide if it will suffice."

"This is stupid," Rachel snapped and moved to get up, but Quinn slammed a hand on the table.

"_Sit_ down," and there was the demon that had been gone so long I had almost forgotten about it.

Almost.

Rachel sat back down, but defiance was still in her eyes, "You can't make me."

"Can't I?" she challenged, and then somehow reined in the scary overlord attitude, "This isn't something I want to fight about. If you don't want to participate, fine, don't, but don't expect anything to change by itself. If you think that your life is at a rare rough patch and will get better if you can just hold out, by all means, show up on Friday, fight it out and go home. Otherwise I would highly recommend you do what I am telling you."

A blanket silence fell over the group that made me think for once Quinn had made one request no one was willing to fulfill.

Then Tina bit her lip before saying, "I have a bracelet. It was the first gift Mike ever gave me, it's pretty expensive, but the reason it means so much to me is…" she stopped talking, clearly embarrassed, but when Quinn showed no signs of giving a shit she went on, "Whenever he flirts with other girls, I always hold onto it and talk myself into forgiving him. But I don't want to, I don't want to be that girl anymore."

A wide grin spread over Quinn's face, "That'll do. Don't you all agree?"

There were grudging head nods all around from everyone but Rachel who seemed to want to rebel against these happenings, "So the item can be anything of significance and not necessarily your most loved?"

Those hazel eyes were hawkish as she looked over the other girl and I knew she was seeing something only those with alarming amounts of insight could see.

"It's obvious the most important thing to Tina is Mike, but since we can't destroy him, the physical manifestation of her attachment to him will do."

When she didn't reply, Lauren spoke up, "I have a picture of myself from middle school. I was a hundred and fifty pounds and, I mean I wasn't super pretty, but I was thin and healthy. Puberty made me shoot up tall faster than I could eat myself wide, of course after a while everything settled and…" she shrugged and grabbed another breadstick. "The damn thing sort of tortures me, 'cause I can't even get close to that weight no matter what I do. It'd be a relief to get rid of it actually."

Quinn nodded, "That sounds acceptable. Rachel?"

"Sure."

"No, I meant it's your turn."

They glared at each other for a long time, and I was almost positive Rachel was going to hop up and leave.

Instead she growled under her breath and said, "I have a scrapbook."

"Aaand?" Quinn drawled.

"And it's full of every dream I've had since I was old enough to scrapbook. It has pasted together images of me winning Emmys and Oscars, it even has drawings of floor plans for the temple where my wedding was supposed to take place. I planned out every last moment of my future in that book, but I find myself not even out of high school and every single word of it is turning out to be a lie. Yet I'm still clinging to it like any of that is something I can make happen. That book assumes that I'm popular all throughout my teenage years, and that by junior year every performing arts school in the country is begging me to attend them, and that I will meet my husband in high school and that my both my parents will be there to support me..."

Tina looked worried, "But I'm sure you can still get married and be famous," she tried.

Quinn rolled her shoulders and yawned, "Maybe, but not if she's following a path she drew before she woke up and saw how completely fucked life is. I'll accept that. Any objections?" When no one spoke up she turned to me, "Santana?"

My most precious things were my memories of Brittany, and the brief yet pleasurable touches we shared. I had nothing she could ruin.

"I don't have anything I care about that much. I guess I'd want to get rid of my Cheerios outfit, but I'd just have to buy another one."

"You'll have to do better than that."

I took the opportunity to try and think of something I owned that it would actually upset me to lose. Sure I'd be upset if some of my clothes or shoes were taken, but it would be more of an annoyance than anything.

The only thing I had that I gave a rats ass about was a little newspaper man that was sitting on my dresser.

In a way I supposed it signified hope for my future with Brittany, but that was me stretching. However, the idea of destroying it upset me more than any other single thing in my room.

Regardless of how mild my attachment was to it, I wasn't going to let Quinn manipulate me into destroying it. She didn't know everything, she wasn't a psychiatrist or even an adult with life experience, she was a know-it-all who strong armed everyone into her way of thinking. How in the hell could rich, beautiful, straight, popular Quinn Fabray truly understand anything about what everyone else was going through?

Was I going to burn my most precious possession because it was the closest thing I had to hope in my hopeless situation?

_Hell_ no.

"I got a receipt from a waitress, she made me feel like I wasn't alone in the world for once," I said my lines slowly, and only thought of Brittany as I spoke, hoping the sincerity that tended to be on my face when I thought about her would help sell the story. "But I need to quit clinging on to the faint hope a stranger gave me and face my loneliness head on."

I assumed Quinn would believe I was editing my explanation for the sake of those who didn't know, and didn't need to know, how gay I was. Her eyes felt like lasers on my skin, leaving a searing trail everywhere they traveled, she was x-raying me for lies and all I could do was pray she didn't find any.

"Okay then, that's everyone."

"What about Brittany?" I asked.

I have no earthly idea why. I suppose it was because it was impossible for me not to inquire about her, but in this case it was so very stupid to have brought her up.

"I already talked to her about it," Quinn said easily and I _know_ she knew how much that bothered me.

"When?"

"I called her before I sent the text out to everyone else," she said before joining Lauren in tackling the breadsticks.

"When did you even get her number?"

"At our last club meeting, if you must know."

"What is she giving up?" Rachel asked.

"That's between us I'm afraid," Quinn said, as if she were truly sorry.

She wasn't.

Demon bitches were never sorry.

I wanted to break her neck so badly, because this was her playing with me again, she was only keeping it a secret to drive me crazy.

"How is that fair?"

"What do you mean? She doesn't know anything about what you all are destroying."

That seemed to immediately appease Rachel, so she sat back in her seat and ate the last breadstick.

"With that," Quinn said, gesturing to the empty breadstick container, "we are adjourned. Enjoy your day off, ladies."

I watched her slip out of the booth and wondered if I dared to not follow, all she wanted was for me to follow and try to beg the truth out of her about Brittany. Unfortunately she had me pegged there, and I did just that as I climbed back into the passenger's seat.

"Was it really so personal that you couldn't tell us?" I asked.

She squinted into the sun as she fished her sunglasses out of the console, "Not really."

"So why won't you say?"

"You can ask her yourself, you have her number."

I could, but I wouldn't, I was sure I would chicken out of asking something so personal.

"You know I won't, so why even suggest it?"

"Why hope that you'll stop being a chicken shit? I dunno, I guess I'm just too much of an optimist to ever stop trying."

"Quinn-"

"You'll find out eventually, and knowing you like I do, I'll bet you won't even realize what her item means."

"Enlighten me then."

She chuckled, "Nope, you aren't going to get me to spill, but I will tell you that based on what she told me, I'm willing to bet my position as head cheerleader that she's the same as me."

That was an impossible phrase if I ever heard one.

"Brittany is nothing like you," I said darkly.

Quinn only sighed and pushed her glasses further up her nose, "Whatever you say."

* * *

The Fabray madness aside, I went home early and had a great day with my abuela. We ate, laughed, and even had a long conversation that didn't remind me that I was hiding something with every word.

That night I went to my room, looked at the lopsided newspaper man and decided then and there I would follow Quinn's advice and change, but just not how she wanted. Sure, Brittany could reject me, and yes that notion still made me dizzy with fear, but it didn't have to be my future. Even if she wanted nothing to do with me, though I would be devastated, it wouldn't spell the end of my life.

I knew it could take me well into my twenties to be completely comfortable, but I was hot and once I figured out how to stop being so scared of others' opinions, I was sure a beautiful relationship awaited me.

I went to bed like that. Feeling positive, my spirits a little uplifted.

My dreams were of Brittany and tender kisses we'd never shared. Unfortunately, they were dashed when a thud and a cold breeze woke me in the middle of the night.

Blearily my eyes opened and shock ran through me to find my dreams had come true. Brittany had come to me in the night through my window.

Then I remembered Brittany didn't know where I lived, and after a few more blinks I became aware that I had the wrong blonde altogether.

"Quinn?" I questioned, my voice raspy.

She didn't answer, she only threw back the sheets and crawled under.

Though this was the first time she had ever snuck into my house in the middle of the night, I was pretty sure I knew why she was here.

"I still don't want sex, Q."

Still no answer, she only crawled close to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my breasts.

For all my protesting the feel of her did stir something in the pit of my stomach, but that small bud of arousal was doused the second I heard a gut wrenching sob come from the body clinging to mine.

The sound surprised me and I wanted to push her back a little to see if she was messing with me, only she was holding me so tightly I could hardly breathe. But once I felt hot tears seep through my pajamas, I didn't need to see anything.

Her body trembled slightly before another muffled sob escaped her, and I was so thankful she had the courtesy not to wake my abuela.

I would have worried that this was some attempt to do just that and force me into some ironic outing with the one girl I would never be in a relationship with. I _would_ have, and I did up until she began to cry in earnest, and it wasn't the hiccupping sobs of an overdramatic teen who didn't get the jewelry she wanted for her birthday or the wails of someone who had been through a bad breakup, these were the deep, painful sounds a person made when something in their soul had been damaged beyond repair.

I knew those sounds better than I ever wanted to admit.

Her cries were desperate and endless, they also quavered slightly like she feared even vocalizing her hurt for fear of being lost in the depth of it.

I didn't know what had caused this, and I knew better than to ask. I just held her and let her cry herself hoarse on my chest.

I did it knowing that if I ever did the same to her she wouldn't hesitate to use it against me. The irritating truth was I would never do to her what she would do to me.

The night rolled on and after an amount of time I had no means to measure, her cries turned into whimpers, which turned into the soft sounds of sleep.

Abuela could have come in on us at any time, and I really did need sleep since there were no plans to cancel school on Wednesday, but I let her stay.

I suppose I should have been worrying about what would happen in the morning, but the only thing I could think was that if Quinn could cry like that about her life, there was more going on with her than I had originally thought.

Not for the first time, I had to admit I had been wrong.

I had to admit that maybe Quinn knew more about pain than any of us, that maybe her advice wasn't so foolish after all.

I did note that she had founded fight club and broken her precious trophy, yet still needed to come cry in my bed. Then I reasoned that this could be her better since I didn't know what her breakdowns were like before.

Though the likely answer was that her demons weren't so easy to shake.

Desperate crying was all it took to have me back in her camp, but this time I resolved that if anything, I would stop half-assing my commitment. We all needed a change and she was the only one trying to give it to us. I couldn't say her method didn't work if I didn't follow her instructions to the letter.

We were in a pit and that night I realized our leader had more incentive than anyone to get out.

So I got comfortable and went back to sleep, Quinn's head tucked under my chin. And instead of dreaming about Brittany's kisses I dreamed of being eaten by a shark while sunbathing in the desert.

**Fuck my life.**

* * *

A/N: I wanna say it'll be the next chapter or the one after that where you will be privy to what's up with Quinn and Brittany so that's in the near future.

I don't expect this fic to be as long as some of the others I've done, but then again I didn't expect the others to be as long as they were so... yeah.

Informative 0atis is informative!

Reviews welcome.


	8. Party Hard

Chapter one had a warning at the beginning in the author's notes. If you have forgotten it, now would be a good time to refresh your memory.

* * *

When I woke up Wednesday morning, I wasn't surprised to find myself alone.

The only proof Quinn had even been by was the faint smell of her on my sheets and her tear stains on my night shirt. I understood the unspoken message there, though: She didn't want to talk about it. Which was fine, I didn't think I could handle whatever had scared the big, bad wolf.

That morning when I got into the car, the first thing Quinn said to me was, 'I caught Sandy with her hair in a side ponytail at practice yesterday, if I ever catch you with the same, we are no longer friends'.

And that is how she indirectly confirmed that the previous night was completely off limits.

Having heard her loud and clear, we kept our conversations superficial for the rest of the week. Not even fight club came up. We talked about girls we hated and boys we thought were cute, always in view of those who would buy the act we were working so hard to sell.

At fight club no one brought anything to destroy, but Quinn hadn't given a deadline and didn't say anything when no one brought anything forward. I was kind of bummed about it, since I was damn near desperate to know what Brittany planned to get rid of.

Instead of getting more information about her, I had to cringe through a twenty minute match between her and Rachel. The midget must have had bad news about her father, because she did everything in her power to one shot her opponent, but like before Brittany wasn't easy to drop. Unlike the first time she fought, she didn't deflect as much, but she would take the blow knowing every strike opened the other person up for a hit. So for every punch Rachel landed she took about three somewhere on her chest, stomach, or arms.

I would never be used to seeing Brittany hit, but at least Quinn hadn't forced me to fight her. It wasn't in my nature to give her the benefit of the doubt and act as if it was because she had a heart. Instead I chalked it up to her biding her time. For what I had no idea and I knew asking would get me no answers and worrying would yield the same results.

Instead I stood, watched, and then let out all my frustrations on whoever would take them, which on that day was Lauren.

I got stomped, but not before giving as good as I got.

Saturday came and I spent several glorious hours in Brittany's company, and afterwards I spent a few glorious hours dreaming of how my life would be if I wasn't so scared of the truth.

And that became the routine.

Sure, it wasn't all the same, the week after Tina brought her bracelet and crushed it under a rock until the metal was warped and crumpled. She cried while she did it, I wasn't sure if it was from happiness or sadness though. At the end, she threw the mangled remains deep into the darkness of the woods behind our clearing, and we paired off for our fights.

The week after that, Lauren and Quinn got together and managed to work out a scheme where they put itching powder in the athletes' jock straps. This prank was purely juvenile and served no purpose until I was made aware of a rumor that Quinn started about most of the boys having STDs. One that stuck with all of them scratching at their junk uncontrollably, leaving them utterly humiliated before the entire student body. There wasn't a soul in the school who didn't take a shot at them for it either. For once the tables were turned and there was nothing they could say in their defense without scratching at themselves, and retaliating posed the same problem.

That lead to a golden month of not having to suffer Puck, Finn, or any of the other Neanderthals, because school etiquette dictated they be treated like scum due to their ailments. Quinn also started a rumor that they had all caught it from one particularly slutty freshman on our squad who she wanted to be rid of.

The girl quit out of embarrassment like Quinn wanted and even though the boys knew she wasn't the cause they avoided her, associating with her would only make their situation worse.

I would have been disappointed in Quinn, but the reprieve it offered was too sweet to be angry about.

The ordeal lasted longer than I thought it would, either because she and Lauren kept reapplying the powder when they snuck off together during class or the boys just didn't wash their privates. I accredited the majority of the success to Quinn's prediction that none of the boys would want to tell their parents about their symptoms since, thanks to Mrs. Fabray, all the adults were aware of the rumors. However, eventually someone broke down, went to a doctor and figured out what was causing the problem. With the entirety of the football, hockey, wrestling, and soccer teams on high alert for a prankster, they were forced to stop or be caught by some very angry, itchy teens.

The week after, Rachel and Lauren brought their precious possessions. Quinn had them set them on fire, and lit a cigarette in the flames.

That may have been when I first noticed something was in fact weird even if I wasn't actually aware of what it was specifically. But I am pretty sure that was where, one by one, Quinn gained our trust, truly.

The shyness from Tina, the rebel in Rachel and the narcissist in Lauren seemed to all get doused when they made their sacrifices to the dark lord.

I promise if I had been more aware of it, I would have done everything in my power to stop Brittany from giving Quinn a damn thing.

As it was though, all I saw was that she was setting them free from the thing that bound them to their sorrows.

All I saw was people being set free and I wanted to be free too.

* * *

The days went from being tense and miserable to manageable.

I also went from being a flailing cheerleader to a lean fighter.

Like with withholding my feelings, I got better and better at our little club and stopped coming home looking like tenderized meat. As a matter of fact, we all did. Even Lauren who continued to look like a beached whale at least looked like a fit one; I attributed that mostly to her and Rachel's need to practice for the club outside of Fridays.

That was the only reason I could think of that both girls would show up a lot stronger and with much better techniques.

There were still nights I would come home with bruises, and on occasion I would fret slightly over my abuela shaking her head disapprovingly whenever same sex couples made an appearance on t.v., not to mention the fact that I was still well in the friend-zone with Brittany, but overall my quality of life had skyrocketed.

And it wasn't just me.

Tina wasn't to be found lurking around and moping after Mike, in fact it seemed to be the opposite. Rachel was still the school joke, but even the jocks would can the laughter when she gave them one of her looks that let them know she wasn't afraid to take them on. It was also a look that promised she'd take her pound of flesh before it was all over, if not outright flatten them. Lauren had become a star athlete since her skills had dramatically improved, and Brittany swore up and down that fight club was the best part of her week.

What Quinn got from the club had yet to be seen, but I didn't care.

I should have, but I didn't.

Instead, I went through my days rather blindly, with Brittany as the prize at the end of my week. I had put aside my own pains and forgotten about everything that was remotely upsetting, including Quinn's cryptic hints about Brittany's special item. At least I had, until one particular Saturday when I went over her house and she wasn't there to greet me.

Her sister had opened the door and she seemed almost exasperated to have to do so.

"Britt's in her room," she said to the hall since she had immediately turned around and walked away.

The girl was odd and I let it go. Instead I hurried up to the only room besides mine I was comfortable in. Unlike my own room I had to knock before entering, but I got a quick, yet solemn, 'come in'.

When I opened the door, I found Brittany kneeling on the floor in front of one of her albums looking so sad it made my heart jump a little.

I went in with a bright attitude and a chipper voice, hoping some of my perceived happiness might rub off on her, "Hey, Brittany, what's up?"

It didn't.

"Nothing," she sighed.

I sat next to her and saw the pictures she was looking at were of her and her dad, the ones on the page she was currently on had her at about age 3 with suspenders and an adorable smile. I had to keep myself from grabbing it from her and trying to memorize every page.

"Something must be up, you look really sad."

"I am," she replied, turning another page where I saw her laughing widely, displaying several missing teeth.

"Why?"

She was quiet as she turned another page and pointed to a picture in the top right where clearly she had control of the camera, the image was only of one eye, one eyebrow and a smile that was unmistakably her father's.

"My mom took the other ones," she said sadly, "After that I took them all."

When she quickly flipped through a few more pages I nodded, because that was quite obvious.

"Do you wish you could take pictures with them again?"

Her head shook slowly and she pointed without looking to her nightstand where there was an off kilter picture of her family… well, of their limbs at least, "I still do."

I wanted to pry, but Quinn had a point when she said the purpose of fight club was to not have to talk about what hurt. So instead I just looked at all the pictures that went by as she turned the pages one after the other.

"Quinn wants me to burn it," Brittany said finally.

I was startled to hear that until I remembered her assignment for us, "Oh," and that was all I had to offer.

"I'm scared."

That surprised me even more, "Scared?"

She nodded, "They gave up on me, but if I burn this then it means I give up on them too, and then what?"

I didn't have answers for her, I didn't even have any for me, so this was way out of my field. As much as I was a card carrying member of team Fuck Parents, I knew Brittany wasn't me, she _wanted_ to love them regardless of how they treated her.

"I don't know," I said slowly while choosing my next words carefully, "You don't have to do what Quinn says if you don't want to."

"What if I want to?"

"Then," I gulped, feeling incredibly pressured to say the right thing, "I guess you have to start thinking about who you want to be."

"What do you mean?"she asked, her eyes turning to me and I had to look away, she was obviously near tears and if she cried I would be forced to do the same.

"You have to start being the Brittany that doesn't care what her parents think or about what they do."

She shuffled next to me and something in me knew her tears were falling, but I didn't dare look, "How do I do that?"

I chuckled, but nothing was funny, "When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"I'm sorry I'm like this," she said, wiping at her face, "I meant to put this away by the time you got here."

"It's fine," I said quickly, wanting her to never feel sorry for including me in her private moments. "Everyone gets sad sometimes, you don't ever have to be sorry for it."

Brittany silently turned more pages before she stopped at one in particular, "That's my dad's old business partner." It was the picture of part of a tie and a shoulder, "He was supposed to make everyone rich with some big invention he had. He, Mr. Abrams, and my parents worked on it with him for years. I broke it, though."

I looked over all the pictures of the man and noted not one was of his face, "How old were you?"

"Ten."

I could feel my face twist in disbelief, "_That's_ why they're so mad at you? For something that happened several years ago?"

She didn't really move, she only tapped her finger against the picture, "No, they could have made another one."

I figured this was another moment when I had gotten all the information I was going to get, but then I heard her swallow hard and speak again with a coarse voice.

"They asked me why I did it and I told them it was because I hated their friend, and when they asked me why that was I told them it was because I didn't like how he touched me when we were alone."

I felt a clash of horror and rage at that, but managed to not interrupt her and rampage down the steps to knock the shit out of her parents, "He didn't… like…uh," for some reason I couldn't say rape.

"No, but he would touch me places he shouldn't, and my parents even told me to tell them if someone did that to me and I did. But they asked him about it and he said he didn't and when I kept telling them the same thing he got angry and left. He took all their work with him since it was his from the start. He made lots of money with it, and since my parents never believed me they always sort of blamed me."

"Do you remember his name?" I tried not to sound like someone who was going to use the name to track someone and kill them.

"No, I tried to forget everything, but I still keep these pictures, and everyone still thinks I'm a liar."

"Why not just burn the pictures of him?" I wanted to search out each and every one and rip it to shreds.

"Because it wasn't just what he did," her voice had that sad, defeated quality again, "It was that my parents didn't believe me, and when I started failing in school they got even more distant. Dania was like a chance for them to start over and forget about me, they don't even give me chores, most of the time they pretend like I'm not even here."

"I- Brittany, I don't want to sound like an ass, but I don't see how you can still live here…"

With an easy flip she closed the book, "A while after it happened, I went online to find some help. There were a lot of people who had a similar story, and some of them talked to me. At first I was just there to see if anyone had advice for how to run away from home as a twelve year old, but then someone reached out and sort of explained everything. Their name was NinjaTree so I don't know if it was a boy or a girl, but they told me that if my parents admitted I was right then that meant they had allowed everything that happened and they couldn't handle that. They couldn't deal with knowing that someone they trusted had hurt their child so badly without them ever noticing."

"Britt, I can't say that I think that's an actual excuse," I said slowly.

"It isn't, but it's better to think that they were so horrified by what happened that they took it worse than I did and went into lifelong denial than to think that they really care that little. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but it's kept me able to get up in the morning and keep a smile on my face." She stopped and looked down at her feet, "But I've always been angry about it, that I had to be strong for them and watch them pull farther and farther away from me. That's why fight club helped me so much, and why I want to burn this book."

"Then burn it," my voice was strong and sure, though I may have been a little ahead of myself when I took her hand in my own, since my heart jumped at the feel, "Burn it and every excuse you've ever made for them. Until they come to you begging for forgiveness they don't deserve, you don't owe them a damn thing."

She looked at it and chewed her thumb, "I want to, but I keep talking myself out of it. I decided I was going to do it this morning and…"

On impulse I grabbed the album and tugged her to her feet, "Then let's burn it now."

"But-"

I don't know what her objection was going to be, she stopped talking, allowing me to pull her through her house and down the road a bit until we hit the end of her block where the woods began. The woods were thick and I didn't know them at all, but I headed forward and tried not to veer off. The second I saw something that could pass for a clearing, I kicked at the brittle grass and twigs that coated the ground until there was only dirt, tossed the album to the ground and pulled my lighter out of my pocket.

She looked at it and then to me questioningly, "Do you smoke?"

As always she could throw me for a loop and I stood there, mouth gaping open trying to find the right answer to that.

In honor of this momentous occasion, I opted for the truth.

"Yes."

She didn't seem disappointed, only like someone who'd had a simple curiosity satisfied. After a beat she took the lighter, knelt next to her most treasured item and lit it on fire.

The flames blazed for a little before I reminded her to take a picture for Quinn. She did, from an absurdly close angle. Seriously, I worried she might burn her fingers. After, we stood there and watched the book dissolve into a combination of plastic, paper and the decorative fabric that adorned the cover.

The smoke was thick and choking, but since Brittany didn't back away from it I didn't either. The sun was high in the sky and there wasn't a cloud to be seen, but under the canvas of trees and smoke it felt like an ominous and sudden nightfall. We watched until the flame managed to catch a few stray leaves and twigs, and then put it out.

She stood there, next to the smoldering remains just staring at it intently like it might magically become whole again, and after a while she began to walk away. I moved to follow, but she held up a hand.

"Wait here, if we both leave, we might never find our way back."

"Where are you going?"

"Home for a shovel. I want to bury what's left," she said simply.

"Then bring me one too."

She nodded and left for a short while, leaving me to think on what had just happened; unfortunately in that moment I thought of Quinn. If she had deduced Brittany's troubles because they were alike, was an abusive adult the link?

I tried to wrap my head around what that actually meant, but Brittany came back before I could, holding two spades.

"Our shovel is locked in the shed and I didn't want to ask my dad to open it."

"Okay," I said, taking a spade and waiting patiently for her to decided where she wanted to bury her past.

She chose a spot underneath a dying tree, and we dug the hole in silence. It was bigger and deeper than necessary, but once it was done she went back to the corpse of a book and kicked the still smoking remains into the hole, a blank expression on her face.

We covered it, packing the dirt tight and Brittany finished it all off by covering the whole thing with dead foliage. At the end it looked like the base of every other tree dying of dehydration and I got the feeling that was the point. She had no intention of visiting this grave or even knowing how should the urge arise.

I could see relief on her face when we turned to leave, and as we did she took my hand. I tried not to turn red at the gesture, though I'm sure I darkened up a little despite my efforts. The line between nature and suburbia was drawn with harsh sunlight on the border of where the trees provided shade, like it was a portal back to a hot, harsh world. But I had learned that even in the shade things weren't different, just easier to bear. So I walked forward boldly, not even worrying about Brittany holding my hand in what was about to become a public setting.

But just before I could set foot in the light she pulled me back and into her arms in a tight hug.

"Thank you," she said thickly, and I knew she was crying again.

I hugged her back, my nose buried deep in hair that smelled of honey, vanilla, smoke, and sweat. I couldn't think of anything I had enjoyed more.

"I… it was Quinn's idea," I said stupidly.

What? She surprised me.

Brittany shook her head and leaned back a little, making me look her in the eyes "Quinn isn't here now."

There was so much emotion there I had to look away, because I wasn't prepared; I couldn't face her like that and not hold her closer and kiss her and promise her the world. Promise her that no one would ever hurt her again knowing that I couldn't keep it, knowing that I was probably the very thing that would hurt her in the first place.

"You're welcome."

She took my hand again and we moved towards the light once more, but there was one thing I wanted to do while still in the cool shade of our alternate universe.

"I love you," I said simply.

"I love you, too," she said back just as easily.

I knew Brittany meant that differently than I meant it, but that was fine.

For now that would have to do, because I wasn't ready for more, but one day I would be. I would find what was holding me back and burn it to the ground – she was worth it.

When we walked back we both had smiles on our faces, because as much as burning those pictures had visually lifted her spirits it lifted mine as well. I don't know why.

All I do know is that when Brittany kissed me on the cheek to see me off I felt more accomplished than I ever had in life.

* * *

During the weekend I seemed unable to do much but ponder the possible link between Brittany and Quinn.

With every day abuse seemed more likely, because there were no other ways in which they were similar. And it would be quite easy to explain her current weirdness, Brittany had found a way to be a functional and kind human being, but Quinn had clearly failed in that regard.

I imagined all kinds of possibilities, all of which included her father since she had destroyed a trophy that reminded her of him. It intrigued me as much as it scared me.

It also made me appreciate my parents more.

At least they had gotten my abuela to care for me and not some sicko. Focusing on their faults was a lot harder when I saw how much worse it could all be. To the point where, when I left for school on Monday, I hugged abuela extra hard and waved goodbye a little too much.

And with this issue having been on my mind for the entirety of the weekend, obviously I wanted to ask Quinn about it right away, but how does one breach such a subject? If I were her I would just ask and not care how abrupt or upsetting it was to the person asked.

My questions, however, were put on hold, because Quinn had other business.

"My parents are out of town for the next few days. Party at my house, tonight."

I almost hurt myself rolling my eyes, "Not interested."

Quinn's house parties usually involved more sex, drugs, and alcohol than any other, they also were where fake Santana had to shine the brightest. Cruelty to those lower on the food chain was at an all-time high at such events and I wasn't in the mood. At all.

"You say that, but I bet you'll come."

"Unless you are planning to tie me up and make me, I'm not going."

She smiled that wicked smile of hers, "I won't have to force you. As a matter of fact, you'll be begging me to come before the day is through."

"Want to make an actual monetary bet on that?"

"Fifty bucks," she said immediately.

"I'd rather go for a cool grand, I'm thinking about saving up for my own car."

"I said fifty because I know it's all you can afford. After all, you're losing this bet."

"You really think so?"

"I do."

"Fine, fifty if you win and a thousand if I do."

"Deal," she said so effortlessly it worried me. "Wear the smuttiest shit you own too, I want you dressed to kill."

I laughed, "You sure you're not gay, Q?"

She laughed as well, but in a way that told me she knew something I didn't. Something that was never a good sign.

"Look, I know how you feel about parties, I get it. Trust me I do. All I'm asking is that you put on a good show. Quinn Fabray house parties are things of legend and you are a big part of that."

"Shame I'm not going."

"Yeah," she chuckled, "Anyway, I know you will be too freaked out to even flirt properly so just look smokin', get super wasted, and make sure everyone else follows suit. Got it?"

I stared at her like she was stupid, "I understand your instructions, but I already know the make and model of the car I'm getting so you can just-"

My phone interrupted me. Normally I wouldn't stop mid sentence for a text, but it was Brittany's special ring and that always took precedent over anything else. I took my cell out and looked at the message on the screen.

**R u going to Quinn's party 2? I've never been invited to one b4 I hope u'll be there.**

I stared at the screen in disbelief, then over to Quinn who was looking coolly at the road before her, then back at the screen.

I went ahead and gave that bitch her damn fifty bucks.

* * *

"Can you believe this?" Quinn asked me, even though I had been determinedly not talking to her since I got Brittany's text.

I knew what she was talking about. The school was putting on a production of West Side Story, and though there was a perfectly good auditorium at their disposal the drama department was doing casting calls in the gym. I suppose because they expected more applicants than actually showed. Regardless, there were five people waiting to showcase their talents to eight judges which seemed silly in every sense of the word.

It wasn't surprising to see Rachel in that line, nor was it shocking to spot Mercedes just behind her.

With our squad doing warm-ups for afternoon practice, we were in a perfect position to watch the whole thing and I was more than a little eager to hear what my sparring partner could offer vocally.

Quinn didn't see it that way.

"I wonder if the fat one will eat Berry if she loses," she scoffed, much to the amusement of several girls around us.

"Probably not, she hasn't been deep fried," that gem of a comeback came from one of our middle of the pyramid drones and all those below her laughed and all those above merely smirked.

"Less chatter, ladies!" Coach Sylvester snapped as she passed by, "But I tell you what, if you happen to mess up and throw a fellow Cheerio into that freak show going on over there, I'll make a golden statue in your honor. And if you break a bone crushing some idiot's dream of being the next McKinley stage play star, I'll pay your hospital bills myself."

We all laughed nervously, that hadn't been as much of a joke as she had made it out to be.

Quinn and I paired up to stretch – her choice not mine – and true to form she kept talking to me like I wasn't pissed at her, "You know, I tried talking to Mercedes, but she outright refused to come." That didn't surprise me at all. "And honestly, the way our conversation went I don't think there's anything either of us could do to change her mind, which is a shame – she is an excellent candidate." I wanted to tell her I didn't care, but I had to hold strong to my silent treatment method, "Though I think she's more frail than she lets on, mentally."

I did _not_ like how she said that, or the way her eyes narrowed like she was in deep thought on the issue. I suddenly was very afraid for Mercedes.

I didn't know until later how afraid I should have been.

Any further conversation was drowned out by subpar singing that Coach made sure anyone looking at her could tell she hated. The first three acts came and went, all performing songs from musicals I had never seen but knew the score for, then came Rachel. And I had to admit she had a far better voice than I ever expected. Even though Sylvester's scowl was always in place, I caught her tapping her foot every few seconds. I didn't recognize the song, but the tune and words portrayed a much happier person than I knew Rachel to be. It could have been my knowledge of her personal life, but I just didn't feel the joy. Quinn didn't either, because she giggled a little every time Rachel went for a peppy, tweeting note.

Once her performance was over there was a strong applause where Rachel bowed exuberantly, and then Mercedes went up. I was a little excited to hear her sing again, she had always been a strong singer and if she got the part, I figured I'd have a reason to show up to the train wreck of a play. And when she opened her mouth and sang, I think she had everyone in the room thinking the same thing. She went with Killing Me Softly and performed it better than any labeled artist had in my working memory. Even Sylvester stopped to stare.

Cheerios practice was on hold until her last note died. Then we all got yelled at by our coach for gawking even though she had as well. Quinn joined her in chastising us and they kept each other going until it was time to leave, meaning we spent the majority of practice getting yelled at about how we wasted 2.5 minutes of practice.

This, I knew, Quinn did on purpose, so I didn't even question her when we headed to the locker rooms to change. She made the walk at my side because she never knows when to back off.

"I'm serious about tonight, and just so you know, I've decided I'm dressing you for this event."

"Excuse me?!" I snapped, unable to keep silent a second longer.

Her voice went low and dangerous, "Do you really want to start a fight with me mere hours before you see Brittany? Are you so short-sighted that you can't see how that's just a terrible idea?"

I could, but fuck her and all the ways she was right.

"I have no trouble dressing myself! Have I ever looked less than amazing?"

"Admittedly no, but I know with Miss Homeschool you'll try to be Miss Modesty and I'm not having it, not tonight. I already know nothing I say or do will keep you from looking like the hopeless homo you are with her around, so I need you drunk and slutty so it can just be written off."

After my trademark scan for eavesdroppers, I glared at her, "Quinn, lets be frank here: Right now, I fucking hate you. And not because you invited Brittany to this stupid party, it's because you invited her as a part of some weird need you have to torment me. Your little 'we're friends' speech aside, there is no denying that you do things to hurt me. Often. This is one of those things."

She simultaneously shrugged and rolled her eyes, "How?"

"I don't know what your plan is, but-"

She held up a hand and since I reflexively assumed I was about to be hit, I took a step back into a defensive stance. That only made her chuckle, "There will be drinking, there will be drugs, there will be the girl of your gay dreams. It's the perfect recipe to make something happen."

I narrowed my eyes, "So you think my idea of romance is to get a friend wasted so I can have sex with them?"

Her eyes squinted as she took on a careful and falsely apologetic tone, "It's really the only way I see this thing happening for you. But it's your choice, and hey, you'll be drinking too, so it won't sound so bad when you tell this story to the next drunk girl you try to get into bed."

"Do you hear yourself when you talk? Do you actually hear how you sound?"

"I hear me, do you?"

I sighed and left to change, because talking sense into Quinn wasn't an option.

Unfortunately I was never given a chance to mentally prepare myself for what was about to happen. Puck rode with us back to my house, making sleazy comments the whole time about how he wanted to help me dress. No one laughed, but it didn't seem to faze him.

Quinn decked me out in my shortest shorts and a cutoff t-shirt that I had stopped wearing in middle school because it didn't fit. Now it _really_ didn't and squeezed my chest so tight if I closed my eyes I could easily believe Lauren had a hold of me.

We drove to Quinn's house and as always the place was the model of decadence. I don't think there was a single piece of furniture that wasn't overly elaborate. The walls were covered with pictures of her rigid family standing stiffly, and I couldn't help but think of Brittany and wonder how she would have taken the pictures.

While Quinn and Puck made phone calls to make sure beer and weed were secured, I gazed over the trophy case where her prized one was indeed missing, and over all the seemingly endless pictures of Quinn from various stages of life. When I got to about the tenth one of her face smiling that fake ass angelic smile, I glanced back to the large family portrait in mild confusion. Because her sister was nowhere to be seen aside from that one place. All other pictures were only of Quinn.

I knew little about her sister, but I did know she'd always had good grades and was one of those students whose name appears on more than one placard in the trophy case at school. But here there was no indication that the Fabrays had more than one child outside of the one photograph. It was weird, but then again her family was weird. The only other thing I could recall was that her sister, Fran, had left home the second she turned eighteen. Literally, the clock struck midnight and she was out the door never to return. I had to wonder if that had been what Quinn meant by her and Brittany being alike since they both had parents that treated one daughter better than the other… but which daughter that was clearly wasn't the same, Quinn was by no means anything other than a crowd favorite.

My mind stayed on Brittany and her possible connections to our pain-in-the-ass hostess even after guests began to file in and I slipped seamlessly behind the mask of someone who cared about the social elite and disdained those who weren't. As the minutes ticked by the house got fuller and the music louder and my attitude got bitchier.

There wasn't a single other member of our fight club present, making me wonder even more why she had deemed it necessary to invite Brittany.

And then, long after it already should have, my brain connected the dots.

Brittany was coming here, to one of Quinn's parties. I think I subconsciously tried not to focus on the fact, because if I did, I would have been hyperventilating all day. As it was I was just doing it then at the party quietly by the beer kegs. Sadly I wasn't even able to calm my panic attack before Brittany came in wearing jeans and a button down shirt with the cutest red bow in her hair – a look somewhere between formal and casual and I knew it was because she didn't know how to dress and was embarrassed to ask.

I didn't have time to worry, all I could do was muster my new compartmentalizing skill and take everything one step at a time. I needed to stop thinking about all the ways this was a disaster and just make it through the night. I could, and I would.

That was the story I was going to try and stick with anyway.

So I straightened up and walked over to her, since she was standing shyly by the door that some random junior had opened for her. When she saw me, that beautiful smile of hers came out and I saw her visibly relax as she gave me a wave.

"Hey!" I yelled, needing to be heard over the music pulsing through the house.

"Hey!" she said back and looked around the place, at the living room turned disco and the kitchen turned bar.

"Wanna go outside? It's not so loud!"

She nodded and I took her hand and led her out to the patio, I could still hear the base thudding from within, but the party hadn't really kicked off yet, so the back yard held scarce few guests and the ones that were there were only talking quietly. I brought her over to the rail along the porch as if there were some real scenery to look at.

The only thing that adorned the Fabray back yard was a view of a half assed garden that paled in comparison to Brittany's, a gaudy marble fountain and a fairly nice gazebo where most of the house guests were congregating.

"You look really pretty," she said right away.

"Thanks," I replied, and then, completely flustered by her compliment, asked the dumbest possible follow up question to that, "Did you want something to drink?" I showed her my cup of what I deduced to be Mountain Dew, rum, and maybe gin.

Puck was a terrible bartender. He usually mixed drinks like a four year old pretending to be a mad scientist.

"Sure, I guess."

I hadn't expected her to say yes, I just hadn't known what else to say, so I asked her to stay put while I went back into the rising chaos that was Quinn's party and located our resident mad scientist.

"You done with my Sidewinder already?" Puck asked, looking into my cup.

"There is already a drink called the Sidewinder and this isn't it."

"Whatever, tell me tomorrow if you still think it ain't the real thing," he said with a stupid wink.

"Just give me a beer."

He looked at me like I had genuinely hurt his feelings, "But you still have more than half your drink left."

"It's not for me, Puck."

"Oh! In that case what'll it be?"

"I dunno, I don't drink beer, give me whatever someone with class would drink."

"Someone with class wouldn't drink beer."

"Just give me a fucking Budweiser! How about that?" I snapped, my patience at its end.

He shrugged and got the requested drink from the fridge, with a grand gesture he popped the top off on the counter and handed it to me with a wink.

"That was a twist top, idiot," I grumbled as I went back out.

And of course there was no way someone like Brittany Pierce could go to a party like this and stand alone for more than ten seconds before the vultures descended. I wasn't surprised, I wasn't even upset at first, but then I saw how nervous Brittany seemed. I admit, I did get a little agitated when I realized that Finn and Mike were the resident sharks for the evening.

"Can I help you?" I asked as I returned, placing myself between them and Brittany, deliberately and making them take a step back.

"Santana, is this your homeschool friend Quinn was talking about?" Finn asked.

"Do you mean is this Brittany? Yes."

"Hi, I'm Finn," he said to the girl standing quietly behind me.

She took the offered hand and responded shyly, "Nice to meet you."

"Do you like football?" he asked immediately.

"Not really-"

"That's cool, I'm quarterback for my team, we're on a winning streak too."

"Finn, she doesn't care," I said simply.

Brittany seemed embarrassed by my bluntness but didn't object. I wanted more than anything to tell the walking tree trunk to get lost, but I knew it wouldn't matter. If it wasn't them it would be someone else and quite frankly Finn and Mike were the most harmless of the bunch. I couldn't spend the night chasing off every boy who came over since only the social elite were allowed to this gathering, turning down each and every one of them would ruffle feathers and raise suspicions. Quinn already explained her feelings on people becoming suspicious of my sexuality, so instead of shooing them away I used our combined status to secure the gazebo from those not high enough on the food chain to tell us to scram.

"What's getting homeschooled like?" Finn asked, deciding that talking about what he knew wasn't going to work.

"I dunno, it's fine," she said in a small voice that barely carried over the relative quiet of the area.

"I would think it'd be awful," Mike said, clearly thinking of his own home, "I can hardly stand how invested my parents are into my grades as it is."

"Yeah, my dad would kill me if I fell asleep in his class, Mr. Schue just frowns," Finn laughed.

"My parents get pretty upset when I fall asleep too," Brittany said with a small smile.

For some reason that seemed to impress them, probably because something as mythically upscale as a homeschooled student could suffer the same learning pitfalls made them feel they had something in common.

Whatever the reason, from that moment on, Finn and Mike relaxed, "Cool," Finn said with that stupid, gassy grin he loved to give.

"This is for you by the way," I said, handing her the beer I had weirdly been holding the whole time along with my own cup.

That was the kind of slip-up that told me I was more nervous than I was willing to admit, but I kept it together.

Brittany took a sip and her face immediately crumpled in distaste, "This is terrible."

"Yeah, beer tastes like horse piss, but it's the only liquid in this house that isn't spiked with hard liquor," I said with an apologetic smile, "I'm serious, don't even drink something you think is soda, because nothing here is as labeled."

"And if it looks like bottled water, definitely stay away," Mike warned.

"Okay," Brittany said, attempting to take another sip and clearly liking it no better than the first, but she contorted the face she pulled into one of mild acceptance.

"You'll get used to the taste," Finn laughed.

Our surprisingly calm and decent discussion was interrupted by a large group approaching, and it wasn't a group I had the authority to turn away. The majority of the Cheerios had arrived and true to form had found their queen bee and began following her around, Quinn stood before them looking the part in a gold knee length dress with a black belt.

I allowed myself a moment of irritation that she got to dress like a person with a modicum of decency and I didn't. At her side I saw Puck eyeing her up like he had x-ray vision, an action he repeated when his eyes landed on Brittany.

"Let's get this party stated," Puck said as he leapt next to Brittany and merely left room for Quinn to join him.

Of course she ignored his blatant disrespect and sat next to me for no other reason than to prove that she didn't care what he did. I would have worried a little about her leaving him unsupervised next to our newest social member, but she proved she knew how to manipulate better than anyone else. Seeing her alone, Finn saw a brief opportunity to sit next to Quinn, but Puck saw that as well and realized leaving his prize unattended would lead to losing what he had for someone that wasn't a sure thing. At least that was the only reasoning I could think of that could have gotten him to stop eye raping Brittany and leap over us to Quinn's side before Finn could stand all the way up.

It had to have been planned, otherwise that smug little smirk on Quinn's face would have been just creepy.

"Dude, who's watching the kitchen?" Finn asked, looking at the house with exaggerated worry.

"Karofsky's watching over our little bar setup, so calm your man-tits," Puck snapped, very much aware that his team captain was about to try and take something he thought was his.

"Glad you could make it, Brittany," our leader announced and by her decree every Cheerio who filed in to our limited space immediately looked to Brittany as a superior – she had been addressed by name by their queen after all.

"Thanks, I'm glad to be here."

Quinn looked down to the beer and her hand and sneered, "Who bought Budweiser?" she asked indignantly while looking at Puck since he had been in charge of all drink acquisitions.

"What? Some dudes like beer and chicks do too. 'Sides I don't wanna clean up red cups all night," he griped.

"So you'd rather clean up glass," she asked him slowly, and turned away from him while he thought over the obvious flaw in his logic, "So ladies, who is the sponsor for the night."

My eyes widened a little, because that was Quinn's cutsie nickname for the person who brought weed to the party. I had simply assumed shit would get passed around out of sight and I could make an argument for the smoke being from cigarettes if Brittany got suspicious. Naturally Quinn intended for us to be in on ground zero.

"I am," one of the sophomores, Maddy or Jody… or something, said, and she handed over a Ziploc filled to the brim with a very illegal substance I never wanted my dream girl to ever know I partook in. In fact, it had been a struggle just to admit I smoked cigarettes.

Puck intercepted the parcel and gave a giddy little laugh, "No worries, ladies, I will set this up for you."

The same girl pulled out another bag of pills and then that panicky feeling I had been holding back started to flare up, "In case we want to get really wild later," she said with a smirk.

Brittany was about to get a front row seat to the ugliest side of fake Santana. This was not going to end well; no matter what I did, the outcome was going to be disastrously bad.

"Ever get crazy high, Brittany?" Quinn asked as Puck finished rolling his first blunt and handed it off to her.

"Uh, no," she said, and she was clearly nervous.

Quinn lit it and took a deep drag of before passing to me, and there I was back in freshman year staring down drugs and trying to decided if I was going to stand up for what I actually wanted and pass or conform and take it.

My fingers were still shaking slightly and I had to make a tight fist and release it to get myself to go ahead and take the damn thing, if I were the type to stand up for myself I wouldn't have been there in the first place. That was a matter for Friday.

However, after I let the smoke into my lungs and eventually released it, I turned to pass it to Brittany and realized that _this_ was the hard part. Corrupting the sweet girl from the pristine home with drugs and alcohol because I was too full of shit to stop it. I had brought fight club to her and now this.

But now wasn't the time for me to make some grand stand, because weed wouldn't kill her, and she could always say no herself. I handed it to her thinking that none of this was really my fault, she was old enough to make her own choices and it wasn't my place to make them for her.

Then she took it, and I knew it was only because she trusted me.

I honestly don't think I'd ever felt so low.

She choked on her first lungful as newbies tend to do, but Puck got about three of them in circulation and she was given plenty more chances to get over that. Quinn started a group discussion about fashion that I only participated in via nods. Mostly I kept up a quiet dialogue with Brittany that started with how nervous she had been to come and became sillier and sillier as time passed until we were both laughing uncontrollably about how fat her cat was.

At some point, somewhere off to my left Quinn started picking out her drug of choice from the second bag and after she made her selection, turned to us with couple of red colored pills. The smile she gave when she did so made me think her canine teeth were a lot longer than I remembered them to be. I was just high enough to take the pill without really worrying about what it was.

When I watched Brittany do the same I had enough presence to say, "Aw, don't do what I do, I'm a bad person Britt."

She only giggled and pinched my nose, "You're the best person."

I smiled at her, she smiled back, and I felt my heart lurch again, because I was still aware that I was betraying her trust. She knew nothing of high school parties and the dangers of being so inebriated around the boys that lurked there, and still I had lead her right down the darkest path.

Just like Quinn had done to me.

Maybe I was becoming Quinn.

That may have been her plan all along.

My muddled brain found that funny, so I laughed. I laughed and laughed until my sides hurt, and Brittany laughed with me even though she didn't know why I was so tickled.

Our private world couldn't last forever though, and eventually someone asked us to dance and the night turned into a blur. I didn't know who I was dancing with or even what the actual beat of the music was. Everything was kind of distorted and at the same time wonderful in the way mind altering substances can make it. My mouth was dry, so I drank, what I didn't know or care, and once I had quenched my thirst, I went staggering back to the gazebo, my brain apparently didn't know where else to take me.

I sat and talked with faceless nobodies, and finished my cup of whatever the fuck it was, realizing only then that I had no idea where Brittany was. I couldn't quite get to feeling worried in my drug induced calm, but curious was my condition when I got up again. She wasn't on the dance floor, meaning she could be in an infinite number of other places but the only ones I thought to check were the bedrooms.

There were three guest rooms, all of which were occupied with couples in various states of making out or sex, not one bothering to lock the door. Quinn's parents' bedroom door was locked, but I banged on it obnoxiously until Karofsky came to it looking shifty as fuck.

"What?!" he snapped.

"You seen Brittany?"

"Who?"

"Tall blonde."

"No!" he yelled before slamming the door in my face.

"Rude," I mumbled quietly before going to the only remaining bedroom, which was Quinn's.

Usually hers was known to all as being off limits to anyone other than herself, meaning the room would be empty, or contain Quinn who could then help me search.

I opened the door a crack and immediately closed it again when I saw that she was in fact inside, with Puck. She was still in her dress, but he wasn't in anything, drunk or sober that was not something that interested me so I moved on, at a loss for where to look.

I felt like a kid looking for their parent. It was probably pathetic, but I wanted to see her and had no way to do so. I asked around, but no one knew her name and 'tall' and 'blonde' could only get me so far. My eyes welled from unwanted tears as I went back into the kitchen to sit on a stool and wait for my little emotional episode to go away.

And there I found the answer to the only question my mind could form, "Santana!"

I looked up to see Brittany, her top unbuttoned showing a sexy lace bra underneath. Sober I would have freaked out, my head would have overflowed with possible culprits and angry self-chastising would have commenced.

As it was I only pouted, "Were you making out with somebody?"

She looked down at herself and laughed, waving a careless hand, "No, I got too hot dancing."

"Yeah you did!" called one of Puck's buddies from behind the counter, who she ignored.

"Finn was right," she said, showing me a beer in her hand that I suspected wasn't the same one I had given her, "It does taste better the longer you drink. Wanna dance?" she asked suddenly.

I nodded, because I wanted to do everything with her, and, rather dangerously, I wasn't letting my social anxieties keep me from doing as I wished. I followed her out into the living room and we did one hell of a dance. I don't know how long we went on or how many songs we went through, I was just lost in her. It was like when we would dance in her room, but even more sensual, because with all the shit pulsing through my veins I wasn't even hesitant to put my hands on her hips, or in her hair, or to pull her body flush against mine. We danced until we couldn't move, sat down to catch our breaths and then got up to do it again. Every sound was lighter, every color brighter, every touch was more wonderful than the last. Her every laugh made me happier than I could ever remember being.

Some of the guys joined us from time to time, and we let them, but we never broke contact with each other. The joy I felt in that moment made me believe that Quinn might not have been outright malicious to invite Brittany. The girl had plans within plans, and I had decided to trust her, but even intoxicated I knew better than to think that there wasn't a malevolent bone in her body. In this case, however, I had to admit that I had been mistaken about her motives.

Our marathon went on well into the night, and long after most had gone home or fallen asleep on the floor, Brittany stayed in my arms and danced with me. Though eventually we had to stop, there just wasn't that much energy in the world. That and the DJ had packed up to leave. So she sat on a clear patch of floor, away from those sleeping or making out and I sat next to her.

"I'm sleepy," I said with a yawn.

She only smiled and pulled at the back of my neck until I was nestled in her lap. I lay there looking up at her as she pet my hair softly, still smiling that same smile.

"You're really pretty," she said.

"So are you," I returned easily.

"I wish I could take you home with me."

"Me too."

A sigh escaped her, "I think I was supposed to be home a long time ago."

"Your parents won't care," I said with a shrug, concerned that she might actually leave me.

"They always care when I mess up with stuff like curfew and grades. Well, maybe they don't care, but they sure do yell a lot."

"Are you going to leave me?" I asked sounding far younger than I was.

She shook her head, "May as well be hung for lamb and sheep."

I nodded back, my brain unable to find the flaw in that saying, "Good, I don't like not being with you."

"Me either. We should stay together forever."

With reality unable to keep me in check, my hopes soared, "Yeah, we should totally move in together after senior year, then we could hang out all the time."

When she didn't respond immediately, I wondered idly if I'd gone too far, but she was only looking at me with her most vibrant smile yet, "That sounds like the best idea ever."

The sound of footsteps pulled me away from the deep oceans I was looking into and to a dark, deadly abyss. As whacked out as I was, Quinn's evil, penetrating glare still made me jump. Quickly I sat up as if I had been caught kissing Brittany and looked up to see if she was still giving me that same look.

Apparently moving had appeased her because she flopped down next to us on her back, looking up at the ceiling as if the stars could be seen through it.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Brittany?" Quinn asked softly.

"Very much," she said slowly and I saw in her eyes that she was drifting off to sleep.

"Good."

The three of us were silent until the sound of Brittany's soft breathing rose slightly in volume, signaling that she had fallen asleep. I gently tilted her onto the floor, and would have found her a blanket had there been any nearby and I trusted myself to be able to stand again.

"Did you get a kiss from your princess?" Quinn asked, her eyes were all pupil and looked almost black when they cut to me.

"No," I grumbled.

"That's your bad then," she laughed.

"Did you finally give Puck what he wanted?" I asked.

I think that was my attempt at a smart comeback.

Her voice came out as a sweet hum, "I wonder?"

I didn't respond, I only sat looking at the floor before my memories of the previous days came floating to the surface. The question that had been on my mind all weekend burned to get out; conspiratorially I scooted closer to her until I was seated by her head, and thankfully I still had the presence of mind to approach the topic carefully.

"Is your dad molesting you?"

Well, I _thought_ I did.

Quinn chuckled, "You would make an excellent guidance counselor. I only say this because of your subtlety and tact."

"Is he? Is that what you meant by you and Brittany being alike?" I whispered.

Her eyebrows shot up, "Brittany's dad's been diddling her?"

"No!" I snapped.

"Then why would you come over here thinking my dad's all on me?"

"Because you said your trophy reminded you of him and I assumed-"

"So _someone's_ been diddling Brittany, just not her dad."

I scowled at her before something clicked and my mouth snapped shut. This was a trap, I couldn't figure out how or why yet, but it was. She was trying to trick me into telling her more than she actually knew.

"No one diddled anyone."

"I think you're lying," she said, turning her head back to the ceiling.

"I think _you_ are," I snapped back. Sadly even I didn't know what I meant by that.

"Listen, Santana, even if I went home every night for my mom to shove a stick up my ass, it's as I have said before, if I wanted to talk about what is going on at home, I would have already. I'm glad Brittany found it in her to share her troubled past since you never would have figured it out on your own, but I'm not Brittany."

"That's for damn sure," I grumbled.

She nodded, "As long as that's clear." I was content to crawl back over to Brittany and curl up next to her, but Quinn's voice stopped me, "What would it mean if I was?" she asked.

I frowned, "If you were molested?" She nodded, "I dunno, it would explain your crazy problem."

"Would it? If Brittany was and she's able to cope what would that mean for me?"

"I never said she was," I repeated, "But…" I paused, because the conversation was too heavy for my current mental facilities to process, "People don't react the same to everything."

I felt good about my answer and capped it off with a confident nod.

"Hmm, why do you think that is?"

"Given how fucked up you are, I'd say it's 'cause you had it worse."

"And what if I didn't? What if I'm this way without a reason?"

"I don't think that's possible."

She giggled, "Well, you're right about that."

It was strange to watch her then, so relaxed and calm. Even drugged her mind was still sharp, but there was a sort of carefree nature to her that made me wonder once again what made her so twisted.

She raised her hand to the ceiling and looked at it as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world, "You know what's weird?" she asked, but didn't wait for an answer, "How frail the human body is, and how quickly people die for no reason. But when there's someone who should go, they just seem to stick around forever. Like nice old people die young, but the angry ones live forever."

"I think you'll be one of the angry ones," that comment was courtesy of my lack of filter at that moment.

"Don't say that. Please don't say that," she sighed and if I knew any better I'd swear she had been about to cry.

"Sorry, you'll die at thirty and never see a wrinkle."

A sad grin slid onto her face, "Thanks," and I saw traces of exhaustion begin to take her over.

"You think fight club will help you not become an angry old lady?"

"It will… You will," she said quietly as sleep crept up on her.

I frowned, because that didn't make any sense, but her eyes closed and suddenly I was alone and bone tired myself. Not wanting to be the only one awake, I did as I had planned and crawled over to Brittany's side. She had curled up into a ball since I left, so I inched over to the couch, got a pillow, and returned to place it under her head. That seemed to relieve her a bit, because her limbs relaxed from their tight lock on one another, and seeing that, I happily slipped my head into her arms and turned her on her back a bit so I could rest my head on her stomach, which was still bare since she had never refastened her shirt.

Brittany hummed contentedly and I fell asleep almost immediately without a care.

As out of it as I was, I knew in the morning everything would change. That the nagging worry that was buried under booze and drugs would come pounding back the moment those suppressors wore off.

In that moment, I was getting to sleep with the girl who lived in my dreams in the most literal way possible. My happiness scale didn't even contain numbers anymore – it was just pictures of joyous moments chronicled by level of intensity by which all other pleasures were measured.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Life (and games) are phucking with my update schedule, don't worry thouh it doesn't mean I'm losing heart or am about to quit.

See you next time.


	9. If You Can't Beat 'Em

From the moment my eyes opened on Tuesday I knew I was in trouble.

First of all, I had somehow neglected to so much as leave a note for abuela telling her where I'd be, mainly because I usually _never_ spend the night at Quinn's house in the wake of one of her parties. Second, I was hugging my human pillow tight like a frightened child and had no idea who was watching me cuddle on a girl on the floor of the Fabray living room. Third, I had no clue what sort of arrangements Brittany had made, but I was willing to bet her parents weren't so neglectful as to not wonder where their daughter was at whatever time in the morning it was.

Alarmed, I yanked my face from where it had become glued to Brittany. She stirred slightly in her sleep, giggling a little at the sensation, while I scrambled for my phone.

10 missed calls.

All from abuela except for three from my dad.

I was in such deep shit.

My head throbbed as I looked around in the morning light that was blasting through the windows and saw a few others staggering to their feet. Most of whom I could assume were so calm because they had cleverly secured their alibis for the night. I on the other hand had relied on my natural repulsion of Cheerios style celebrations – no matter how wasted, I always managed to drag myself home rather than wait out the night with my school 'friends'.

Last night had been different. Brittany had been there and all thoughts of leaving evaporated, putting me in the first time position of being out all night on a school night and needing to come up with an excuse. Quick.

Though I was worried for my well being, when Brittany stirred again I was suddenly more worried for hers.

"Brittany; Britt wake up." I whispered quietly while giving her a firm shake.

Her eyes cracked open slowly and then snapped shut.

"Why? My head hurts really bad."

"Because we gotta get you home."

Those words seemed to yank her onto the plane of reality I was currently working in.

"What time is it?"

"Ten," I informed her apologetically.

Her eyes widened, "I'm in a lot of trouble right about now."

"What did you tell your parents you were doing tonight?" I asked as I stood and straightened my ruffled clothing.

"Visiting you," she mumbled massaging her temples.

"You didn't mention a party, right?"

She laughed, though I was sure she didn't find it funny, "No."

"Good, I can work with that. Come on."

I helped her off the floor and pulled her into the bathroom where a couple of freshmen were trying to either have sex on a toilet or share it. Whatever their plans, I shooed them away and quickly began to wash my face, clearing it of smeared makeup and grabbing the brush on the sink to try and fix my hair. Turning to Brittany, I saw she was still a ruffled mess and looking more alarmed as the reality of her situation sank in.

"I'm in _so_ much trouble."

"It'll be fine," I told her as I removed the bow from her hair and brushed it back to its former, shining glory. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

She seemed to relax a bit when I said that, and oddly, I did too. Somewhere inside I'd decided this wasn't going to be the catastrophe it looked like. She wasn't going to get grounded out of ever seeing me again and abuela wasn't going to petition to have me shipped off to boarding school. It was going to be fine, because I decided it would.

I decided it and didn't even know how I was going to make it happen.

But I knew it was.

So I combed her hair, buttoned up her blouse – even though it pained me to do so – and wet a cloth for her to wash her face. While she did, I grabbed some mouthwash and gargled it before I passed it to her, she followed my lead and even tucked my shirt in for me while I looked at my eyes in the mirror.

The intimacy of it would have made me nervous, but I saw how red my eyes were and decided to focus on that instead. Opening the medicine cabinet, I found the key components to making it out alive: eye drops and Aspirin. She didn't question the medicine, her head must have been pounding harder than mine since this was her first hangover. Brittany downed the pills and I expertly put a few drops into my eyes before passing it to her.

"What is this for?" she asked looking over the bottle.

"Your eyes are about as bloodshot as mine. This will help that to go away."

I knew she had more questions, I could see it in her face, yet without another word she tilted her head back and tried to get the drops into her eyes. Unfortunately, she kept flinching away whenever the liquid fell.

"Here," I said gently, taking the drops from her and holding her lids open.

Her hands rested on my shoulders as I worked and I really wanted to kiss every inch of skin exposed in that position, instead I did the task at hand and looked her over before scrutinizing myself in the mirror.

"Okay, let's get you home," I said before walking towards the door, her hand in mine.

Quinn always insisted Puck and Finn be the ones to clean up after her little shindigs. I suppose that was their payment for being allowed to even come, I don't know, but I didn't envy them as I looked around the mess that was left. I saw Puck shuffling by in nothing but boxers while he picked up various bottles and cups placed wherever last night's guests deemed reasonable.

"We need a ride; where's Finn?"

"Out back, but he can't until later, 'cause he's going to be helping me," Puck insisted.

"Right," I replied before I left to fetch the oaf and demanded a ride using every ounce of command that my rank as a bitchy top cheerleader gave me. He was at least already dressed so when he dropped his trash bag and went to get his keys it wasn't as awkward as it would have been with Puck.

We climbed into his truck and I gave him directions to Brittany's. She sat close to me, not saying a word and I was equally quiet while trying to think up an excuse for her absence. Finn turned the radio onto some R&B and sang quietly while we rode.

By the time we were about to turn onto Brittany's street I had everything worked out and had explained the details of my perfect lie to everyone. The story was Brittany's phone had died and I'd forgotten mine at home, we had gone for a ride in a secluded area and when my car broke down we decided to wait until morning to try and find help.

It was a shoddy story, but not one that the Pierces had the resources to disprove.

Then Finn turned the corner and I spotted the cop car parked in front of Brittany's house. He slammed on the brakes and the three of us just stared for a moment.

"Maybe they aren't there for me?" Brittany questioned.

"Uh," Finn added helpfully.

"It's fine, if everyone's cool they won't be suspicious if we tell the story like I explained it."

"Santana, I'm a bad liar and I can't go to jail, it'll screw my chances of going All State," Finn whimpered.

"Then just drop us off and drive away," I snapped.

More than a little keen on that idea he drove up to the opposite side of the street and almost shoved us out before he peeled off, leaving Brittany and I standing in front of the picture perfect house with the rather marring image of a cop car in the front.

"Maybe you should have gone with him," Brittany said softly.

"No. I said I'd take care of you and I meant it."

This was well outside my area of expertise, even though I often tried to convince the students of McKinley that I knew my way around a prison. Puck knew way more about it than I ever could. I began to wish he owned a truck instead of Finn, then I realized that he'd probably make our situation exponentially worse.

"Come on," I said taking her hand again, leading her up to her own door as if it were my house instead.

I knocked firmly and as it usually was with the Pierce house the door was snatched open, but instead of Brittany's smiling face I saw the gaunt face of a worried father. He seemed like he might cry for a moment as he took in Brittany and just like that she was out of my hands and in his arms.

"Where were you? Why didn't you answer your phone? We were so worried Brittany!"

The commotion brought her mother who joined her husband in crushing their daughter in affection, it also brought a stern-looking cop with a buzz cut and a molestache. He gave me a hard look as if he had already decided this was my fault.

His partner appeared behind him and was much less stern looking; he was smaller, lanky, his hair was longer and upon seeing Brittany he seemed genuinely relieved.

"Where were you, young lady?" The angry cop asked, taking a heavy step forward.

The sound of his boot stomping on the wood floor seemed to snap everyone out of their respective preoccupations to focus on him.

"I went to hang out with Santana, my phone died and she didn't bring hers," Brittany offered immediately.

"Why didn't you use a friend's?" he asked, taking another step forward.

Her father put her down but seemed eager to hear her reasoning. All I could do was pray she would remember.

"There was no one else with us. We were driving pretty far out of the city and Santana's car broke down," she said pointing to me briefly, the officer's eyes whipped over to me as if he might be able to find that was a lie if only he could catch me unaware. "It was dark and late, so we didn't try and walk anywhere, we just slept in her car until morning and then looked for help."

The smaller officer nodded his approval, "Better to wait than have two teenage girls wandering around alone in the middle of the night."

"Where did your car break down exactly?" the other officer asked, clearly not ready to buy what Brittany was selling.

She shrugged, "I wasn't driving, and I didn't know the area well."

All eyes went to me and I shrugged as well, "I didn't either, I just used her phone's GPS to tell my friend Finn where to come get us."

"I thought you said her phone died," he quipped back.

"We charged it at a gas station where we waited for him to pick us up."

He took another step towards me, apparently determined to find a hole in my story, but I was too good for this. I had been lying far too long to slip up.

"And you didn't think to charge it in the car?"

"Well, officer, we didn't need her phone until the car broke down and it's rather difficult to charge a phone in a car that won't start."

I was getting snappy and incensed; sure I was lying, but this son of a bitch had no reason to think I was. On behalf of the version of me who could have theoretically been telling the truth I was completely indignant.

His eyes narrowed slightly and his mustache twitched making me wince a little, "Why didn't you call your parents, or hers?"

"Seemed easier to just go home."

For their part Brittany's parents seemed sated with the excuse and her mother was already advising her to keep her phone charged before she went out.

I had kept my word to her, that was all that mattered, and as I wasn't under arrest I decided it was time to take my leave. I turned to begin my trek back, but the voice of Officer Jackass stopped me.

"So I see your friend's gone. I wouldn't feel right making you walk home after a night like the one you've had, let us give you a lift," he said, though his tone told me he was more interested in questioning me further.

"Thanks for the offer, but I was kind of cramped in my car all night, I need to stretch," I said as I walked away from the whole incident.

He didn't insist further and I was able to walk home in the cool breeze that the early morning offered. My lie had appeased the Pierces and the police, but my father's car was safe in the garage, so telling abuela the same story would be plain silly. Telling the truth was not an option – I'd already fucked up and not told her where I was once and promised I would let her know when I was going to be out late from now on.

I could adjust it to involve Bret and his car breaking down, but that lie was a little _too_ untraceable. Though the longer I walked the more I convinced myself that it was really the best explanation I had to offer. To really solidify it, I came up with a list of people I could enlist to play Bret if it came to that, and was even prepared to pretend to date Finn for a beat if it would keep me from getting grounded and, subsequently, kept away from Brittany.

Then I turned the final corner to my house and saw something even more horrifying than a cop car parked in front.

Quinn's car.

I won't lie, when I saw the thing I felt like I might be having a mild heart attack.

Her being near my abuela was bad in every possible way.

I walked slowly up to my own door and stood frozen in abject terror. With trepidation, I opened it and walked inside, my breath was held for angry shouts or the sound of solid objects being hurled.

Instead I smelled bacon and heard abuela call my name calmly, "Santana, we're in the kitchen!"

Still wary, I walked to the source of the voice and found Quinn in her Cheerios uniform sitting at the counter while abuela prepared breakfast.

Turning to me, my grandmother looked me over like someone might observe a wounded pet, "I know you must be tired, why don't you go upstairs and get a shower? Breakfast will be done when you come down."

I looked to Quinn who only winked.

Completely floored, I did as I was asked, showering and dressing in complete confusion. I even donned my Cheerios uniform, because I had no idea what the lie had been or what Quinn's future plans were, so I merely followed her lead.

When I came back down Quinn was already eating pancakes and talking animatedly with abuela about what I assumed was our cheer schedule. I sat down in the stool next to her and found a plate placed in front of me the moment I did.

"If you have to go back out there, best to have a good meal to get you through the day," abuela said kindly.

The moment she turned her back I turned to Quinn, demanding some sort of hint as to what was going on by way of a confused gaze.

"Earlier I was telling your grandmother about why you were missing last night, with Sue making us do her stupid all night training session," Quinn said casually.

"It's a good thing too, I was moments away from calling the police," abuela laughed.

"A lot of that going around," I muttered.

In her angelic voice Quinn added, "Again, I'm sorry you were so worried."

"I did call Alberto though, I would have thought he would have told me that was a possibility, then I could have just called the school."

"Like I said he probably forgot, Coach does this all the time."

"Someone really should have a talk with that woman."

"Agreed," Quinn laughed.

I watched the whole conversation while chewing slowly. It was like watching an intense tv drama where you knew the plot was something good, but since you came in on the middle, you can't figure out what it is exactly.

Wiping her mouth gently with a napkin, she hopped off her stool, "As delicious as this was Mrs. Lopez, Santana and I have to go or else Sylvester will keep us extra long."

"Okay then, hurry along," while collecting our plates she turned to me, "I'll be sure dinner makes up for breakfast."

I had only finished my bacon and a bite of pancakes, but with that Quinn had swept me out the door and into her car.

"What was that?" I asked immediately.

"Me covering your ass," she chuckled.

"What did you tell her?"

"That Sue sometimes holds spontaneous overnight practices, during which we are not allowed to use phones in any way shape or form. Also that the permission slips are signed for the event at the beginning of the school year to account for why your parents had forgotten to mention it to her. I merely explained that I had been kept after for a Head Cheerio to Coach talk, I had planned to drive you home and back but you left before me, presumably walking, so I decided to wait for you here and return you to school right when you arrived home. Oh, also the practice extends through today, and though it seems tough it's how we have stayed best in the country."

"And she believed all that horse shit?" I honestly thought my abuela to be a more discerning woman.

"Not really, at first. But when I was able to get my dad on the phone to confirm some of the other ridiculous crap she's pulled over the years this seemed more than a little plausible. Actually, by the end of the phone call my dad even believed the story, he signs whatever I put in front of him without even looking. I swear I could shove a check for a billion dollars under his nose and he would sign it."

"Why don't you?"

"Because he'd eventually figure it out," she said giving me a sidelong glance like I was an idiot for asking.

Admittedly it had been a stupid question.

"So why did you do that for me?"

She sighed heavily, "I was going to leave you to figure it out, but then I went to class and had no one to smoke with in the parking lot, so I came to save your bacon. Turns out I got to eat some to," she laughed.

"Am I really the only pawn suitable for the job?"

"I considered Rachel, but she'd spend the entire time chastising me for smoking, and then we'd have to fight for real."

"You should have focused your attention on Brittany, her parents actually did call the cops."

"I knew you would handle her, so I covered you-"

"After working out how it would benefit you personally."

"Admittedly."

I growled in agitation and flipped the middle console open to retrieve her sunglasses and let them shield my eyes from the incoming sun. The panic based adrenaline wore off and allowed my party night headache to bloom into its full, pounding glory. The Aspirin couldn't hold the tides back any longer, and I was going to have to accept the repercussions.

As it turned out, I wasn't the only one.

* * *

That mild feeling of worry began to surface again at the following fight club.

It happened when Quinn showed up with all five of the girls from under the bleachers at her heels.

Tina and myself looked worried, Rachel and Lauren looked pumped, and Brittany seemed only interested.

Quinn seemed a little off tilt when she showed up, more crazed than usual. And it wasn't in her speech or in the way she moved. It was something I knew because the demon in her eyes was raging. It was that same madness from when I had laid her out in front of my house, and it scared me.

"Ladies, we have some new additions today," she said, jerking her head toward the girls behind her.

Rachel scratched her head, "Are we going to have to sit through introductions and all the rules again?"

"No," Quinn said quickly, now she was alarming me, moving back and forth quickly like she couldn't hold still, like she had somewhere else to be, "I've already given these girls the rules and as of now the only rule that everyone needs to be aware of is we aren't doing introductions here. It doesn't matter who you are or why you're here, you've come to fight not talk. Fuck talking."

One of the tall brunettes behind her nodded in approval and pounded her fist into her palm.

Rachel only nodded, "I agree."

That was a first.

It was also the first time I actually listened to the little alarm that went off in my head when something odd was taking place, only I didn't know what to do with the information.

"Then let's fight," Quinn said.

Her tone made me make a mental note to not pair off against her.

It turned out to be a good call, because she made one of the new girls cough blood and dislocated another's shoulder. To their credit they didn't seem deterred by their defeats.

Brittany fought one of the bleacher girls and Rachel before she was done and I got the pleasure of Lauren and Tina. I wasn't surprised Lauren pounded me into the ground, but when Tina nearly got the best of me, I made an internal note to practice more.

We fought far longer than we ever had before, and Quinn's matches were always exceptionally brutal, but her new friends seemed to dig that. Which was good since neither Brittany nor I volunteered to face her.

Rachel did.

That fight left both of them looking like they'd tried to fist fight a bear, and when Quinn finally dropped to one of Rachel's sturdy knees to her gut it was officially time to call it a night.

The whole thing had been odd, but only slightly more odd than anything else that had happened. The difference was that I finally noticed it, and when the club was in session again I was more alert to when things got weirder.

For the entirety of the week after getting new fighters Quinn seemed normal… for her. She called me queer, did things that made me think she cared and then did things that proved she didn't. It was same old same old.

Then Friday came and Quinn didn't appear.

That was my red flag, my warning that all wasn't well. Whatever her plan, Quinn was not one to abandon something so massive in scale. Her parents never punished her for anything, so she wasn't grounded, and she'd been in perfect health up until that point.

In the end I reasoned that maybe she got in trouble for lying about the bruises she inevitably had from the brutal brawl of the previous week, but even my amazing skills for writing things off had trouble imagining Quinn unable to lie her way out of trouble.

My concern, however, was overshadowed by the fact that in Quinn's absence Rachel took over.

I was shocked, but at the same time I wasn't.

She bossed us all into pairings for the night and we fought hard and well and were dismissed relatively on time.

I was alarmed, but that Saturday Brittany hand fed me homemade ice cream and it sort of blanked out everything else. The scare she gave her parents by staying out with me seemed to have spurred them to show a little more compassion, evidenced by the fact that her mother had taken special time out of her day to show her daughter how to make ice cream. She told me her father planned to tutor her to make sure her grades got better.

I didn't believe in the slightest that Quinn had planned for this, but I was thankful to her for the party and I was glad Brittany was finally getting some attention from her family.

On Monday, Quinn was back in school, so I didn't even worry about her absence on Friday. I did attempt to ask about it, but she shot down my concern immediately and I didn't bother to try and change her mind.

I was able to live in the blissful wonderland of willful ignorance until that next fight club.

Quinn showed, but the first notable difference between this arrival and every other time we'd held fight club was that she was noticeably intoxicated. It didn't initially bother me, at this point I was more than a little familiar with the fact that her life was crushing down on her, making her prone to moments of instability. However, when we started and she demanded to have two opponents at once, I got a little worried.

At first it was for whoever took her up on that offer, which happened to be two of the bleacher girls, one lean, the other wide, and neither particularly fast. Then I saw them do together what neither had managed to do alone and that was completely stomp Quinn. I was no stranger to watching one person getting their ass handed to them, but it seemed like she wasn't even trying, even accounting for the fact that she was drunk there was just a supreme lack of effort. They knocked her back and forth between them like a ping pong ball and she didn't even attempt to tap out. It went on until the taller girl lifted Quinn above her head and threw her into the ground where she didn't move. Rachel called it a knock out and moved to take Quinn's place in the inner circle, everyone ignored her motionless form except for Tina, Brittany, and me.

I stood back as Tina and Brittany turned her over, her nose was bleeding slightly and her eyes were familiar black pools of infinite madness. It reminded me of the night that started all of this.

It made me wonder what the end would be.

"Are you okay?" Tina asked.

Quinn smiled, "In the dirt with a bloody nose, brings back memories, don't it?" the question was directed at me.

I had been thinking of the first time I'd punched her in front of my house, but she was referring to something else entirely. With her drunk and Brittany so close I became exponentially more worried about what might come out of her mouth.

"Guys, I got this," I said, kneeling by her side.

Tina nodded tentatively and went back to her spot to watch Rachel continue her quest to one shot Lauren. Brittany didn't move right away, she just stared at Quinn like she might say something, but instead she tightened her jaw and walked away.

"Santana," Quinn said, looking at me with very little focus, "I think I might be drunk."

"I know you are."

"Oh," she said, like she was disappointed to have been right, "You two would be so good together, y'know."

I looked over my shoulder to Brittany, who appeared to be watching the match, but I could see the corner of her eye trained on us, "Yeah, I think so too," I admitted. "You're hurt pretty bad, Q."

She laughed, "I know, I'm not that drunk."

"Did you drive here?"

An unnecessarily large nod proceeded her answer, "Yup."

"That was stupid."

"I'm drunk, idiot, why would I make smart decisions?"

That was a valid point, "I think I need to take you home."

"Nope, I gotta fight more, I need it."

"You don't want to fight, you want to get beat up. I saw you out there."

"Please remember I'm drunk."

"Quinn-"

"Don't," she said and there were sudden tears in her eyes, eyes that were less swirling madness and more open despair. "I can't go home, not like this."

"I'll sneak you in your bedroom, c'mon it won't be the first time," I said, trying to keep my voice light, because this new, vulnerable Quinn was scaring me.

"Will you fight me?"

I considered that for a moment and decided that I could do that and not be the tryhard warrior that Rachel was currently being.

"Sure."

She seemed relieved at the notion, and it felt good to be able to help her, "You have to hit me in the lower abdomen, body blows only," she insisted.

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't want to have this baby."

My breath caught in my throat and my heart skipped a beat, "What are you… Quinn, you can't- I won't do that."

I was even more shocked to see the tears that had merely been shimmering in her eyes fall, "Don't be like that! You have to help me!" she whispered fiercely.

I blinked down at her with a complete lack of understanding.

Was this what had been tormenting her? Was this the reason she started a fight club?

"You are aware that killing a fetus with drugs and alcohol on purpose is the same as abortion, right?"

"You don't understand! I _cannot_ have this baby, I can't!"

My mouth opened and closed several times before I found a response, "There's always adoption," I said tentatively.

Quinn clawed at her face as she breathed deeply, "I know you don't understand, but I'm already in so much shit," she sobbed, "I'm already so guilty of so much, I need this technicality. If I can just get the world to cut me some fuckin' slack on this one thing I think I won't lose my mind."

In my opinion it was already gone.

"Look, if you need to get to a doctor discretely I can help you, but this isn't the way."

Ignoring me she finally launched herself up off the ground, "You are supposed to be my savior Santana."

I knew that was the alcohol talking, but I couldn't help but feel that she meant it in some indirect way since that wasn't the first time she'd said something like that.

I wanted to try and talk to her a little more, but then she started proving just how off she was by circling the two fighters shouting at the top of her lungs.

"What are you doing, Rachel? I thought this was a fight club not jazzercise!" Neither fighter responded to her taunts, but Rachel did seem to hit a little harder after that, "And Lauren, I know you primarily rely on your thick layer of lard to protect you, but if you want to achieve anything in life you're going to have to actually _try_!"

"Yeah, kick it up, shorty," one of the new girls added.

I'd never seen Quinn get so angry so quickly, "Shut your fucking mouth! If you want the right to taunt someone then crawl out from out from under the bleachers during school hours and make something of yourself you useless piece of shit!"

The girl seemed surprised, but she was quiet. That at least I could understand, it had been too disturbingly like being in a group of Cheerios for me too.

"If you want anything to change then fight for it! Every time you step in this ring you should leave everything you have here, everything! This isn't a routine! This isn't a game! You come here to change! And if you are half assing it like these ladies here, you will live and die as the putrid shits you are right now!"

"Encouraging words from our fearless leader," I muttered as I returned to Brittany's side.

"She isn't fearless, she's really scared right now."

I hadn't needed Brittany's intuition to know that, "She's taking that fear out on us."

At that moment Rachel finally heeded Quinn and managed to finally drop Lauren with a flurry of punches to her throat that made my own tighten up.

Left spluttering in the dirt Lauren was left in the care of Tina as Quinn stepped over her, before pointing to me, "Santana."

"Are you sure you're okay to fight again?" Tina asked cautiously.

"More than okay," she said while beckoning me with her finger.

"I'm not going to fight you," I said stubbornly, "You're drunk and you need to sober up before you make some bad choices."

"I'm sober enough for this," she said, "Now get over here before I come over there."

"I won't fight you."

"I will," said Brittany.

My blood froze.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her close, "You can't, Britt. She's in no condition to fight."

"She may be drunk, but she needs a fight right now."

"But she's pregnant."

"I know," she said simply, her words left me lost, because they implied so very much and none of it was good.

"How?"

"She told me at the party. I don't think she meant to, though," she said quietly, thinking back on the situation.

"Well, then how can you?"

"She's going to do this whether we help her or not, and if we don't help, she'll probably do something really, really horrible to herself." With that she pulled herself away from my slackened grip.

"But-"

"Santana."

That was all she said to me, and that was all she needed to say to make me understand that I couldn't change her mind.

I stepped back and watched the two of them square off with a weird feeling of… something. I didn't know what. Horror, anger, betrayal, and utter confusion were a start. In the dream world where Brittany lived in my mind she would never agree to something like this.

But here I was, standing in reality, watching her get ready to beat Quinn into a miscarriage.

Like at the party I felt like this was my fault, that I led her into this dark place, that the corruption I walked around with had leaked into her.

Then when I watched Brittany lunge for her I wondered if this was the girl I was in love with all along. Maybe fight club hadn't created this facet of her but only made it easier to see.

Quinn made feeble attempts at protecting herself when the blows got even harder, but she didn't lose her footing. Brittany's face was a mask of grave determination, but she never relented, not until her body blows made Quinn's legs give out. I watched in a detached, numb sort of way, because I knew then that everything I'd built up in my mind was crumbling right before my eyes.

* * *

After fight club, I used Quinn's car to get her and Brittany home. It was a round about trip since Brittany had to help me haul Quinn's drunk, broken body through her bedroom window, then I had to take Brittany home, return the car to Quinn's and call a cab to get home.

In all that time Brittany and I didn't say a word to each other about what had happened. Whatever her silence meant was a mystery to me, but mine was because I had come to the realization that I didn't know her at all. Moreover, I felt like I didn't know myself, because I still loved her.

And I shouldn't have. Right? Beating a child out of a drunk, crazy person should be a deal breaker, shouldn't it?

On Saturday I didn't go visit her, wishing instead to have a little time to myself to try and work out what the hell was going on in my head. I pretended not to see her texts asking where I was, ignored her calls, and eventually just turned my phone off and stuffed it under my pillow.

Imagine my surprise when around mid afternoon my abuela called for me to come downstairs and there at the door was Brittany. I stood at the bottom of the stairs looking surprised and feeling scared, as if abuela would be able to sense my feelings for her if we were too close.

She didn't, instead she invited the girl I loved inside and offered her something to drink. Brittany declined and introduced herself as my friend while I just stared blankly. After exchanging pleasantries, abuela went back to the living room to watch television and I continued to stare.

"Hey," she said shyly. I only blinked. "I realized it isn't fair that you always visit me and I've never been over your house."

"How did you find it?" It was the only question my brain provided, so I asked it.

"I asked Quinn for your address." When I didn't answer, I could see worry cloud her features, "It's okay I came, right?"

"Y-yeah, yes, definitely, you just surprised me."

"I would have asked if it was okay, but you didn't answer your phone so I decided to take a chance."

"Oh, I, uh," I waved vaguely, "left it upstairs."We stood quietly in the doorway until my head was able to get unstuck from my ass, "Come on up."

I took the stairs a little faster than I had to in the hopes of reaching the top and getting rid of any hurtful evidence before Brittany arrived. My four-step head start bought me time to hide a few articles of dirty clothes and a Maxim that usually sat open on my dresser. I did a quick sweep to see if anything in the room screamed gay before I turned around and welcomed her in.

"Wow," Brittany said as she stepped into my unremarkable room, "It's even cooler than I thought it would be."

I really did wish her simple offhand comments wouldn't fluster me so much.

"My dad didn't want me to paint the walls black, but my mom thought I should be allowed to express myself artistically."

She nodded, walking around and observing each and every object in the room. I watched her do that, wishing I'd gotten more warning for this. My heart still ached from the scene the night before and I didn't know how to handle it. All I knew was that I didn't have it in me to tell her to go, even though everything in me was begging me to.

With her in my room I wanted very much to forget the whole thing and just enjoy our day together, never wanting fight club to mar my perfect moments with her, but this time it was impossible.

"Why did you do it?" I asked almost the moment I closed the door behind us.

She seemed to genuinely not understand and it made my stomach hurt, because she had to know what I was talking about. Seeming to not know my meaning when the subject is obvious – that was a Quinn move.

"Do what?"

"Why did you fight her?"

Her eyes lost some of their brightness at that; quietly she paced before sitting on my bed, "She needed us to help."

"Brittany, how was that help?!" I whispered as loudly as I dared, not wanting abuela to hear, "If she didn't want a baby she shouldn't have been sleeping with Puck, especially since everyone knows for a fact he doesn't use protection!"

"It wasn't about that," she replied, looking at me with eyes that pleaded for understanding, "Wasn't it obvious that she was going to get rid of the baby any way she could?"

"Yes! But there are safe methods for that!"

Brittany shook her head, "I didn't fight her because I wanted her to lose the baby, I did it because she needed me to. Couldn't you see how desperate she was?"

My fury flared a little because I had seen that, all too clearly.

"She was drunk and pregnant-"

"And likely to hurt herself some other way if she didn't get what she wanted from one of us. I didn't hit her as hard as I could, just hard enough to make her feel better… if that makes sense."

It didn't and it did.

"I don't think we should get involved with her when she's like that," I warned.

Brittany seemed shocked, "She's your friend, she was hurt and needed you."

"I couldn't punch an unborn baby! Sorry for being the world's worst friend," I snapped back, mad at her for making me feel like the bad guy in this scenario.

"Santana," she sighed, "she's not going to have the baby, she made that pretty obvious. It's not the baby's fault it exists yet she already hates it. That's got to be the loneliest feeling in the world. I know since my parents loved me before I was born and a little while after, when I lost that it hurt so much, but at least I had it for a little while. So I fought Quinn, not just because she needed me to but because the baby needed me too. I wanted to let it know that at least one person loved it before it went away."

Her logic was whimsical and flawed, but this time it wasn't charming it was frightening, "Yeah, I'm sure it got the love vibes as you pounded it." The hurt that washed over her face doused my anger in a flash, "I'm sorry."

I sat next to her on the bed, hoping she wouldn't move away. She didn't get up but she did lay back letting her hair fan out around her. I wanted to nestle into her like I had at Quinn's party, but I decided that wasn't the best idea.

"I know it sounds stupid, but I think babies are more aware of other's thoughts and feelings than anything else. I'm not a doctor and I don't have any proof to back it up, I just… I mean…" she paused to look at me as if worried that I might not understand, so I made sure my face showed nothing but rapt attention. "I don't talk to Dania much, she kind of resents me 'cause mom and dad rely on her to do everything. But before she was born, I used to talk to her all the time; not out loud, just quietly when I would sit by my mom, I would tell her how much I loved her and how I couldn't wait to meet her. I'd like to think somewhere deep down she remembers that and I hope the same is true for Quinn's baby."

She was doing what she had done with her parents, broken the whole thing down into the most optimistic bundle she could manage. I wanted to call her on it, to be angry and shout and explain that the silver lining she thought she saw was a trick of the light and nothing more.

Instead I said, "I hope so too."

"I know I'm probably wrong, but sometimes you just have to believe something good, even if it's more than likely not true. The world's too dark to only believe what you see."

The need to break her bubble of naiveté faded to nothing, I couldn't fight Quinn and I couldn't fight Brittany, both were beyond my ability to battle on a mental plane. I was still worried, for both of them and what this all actually meant, but I kept that worry inside where all my concerns were locked away these days.

"That's true I guess, but the world isn't so bleak anymore is it? Things are a lot better at home for you lately, right?" I asked, wondering if I was overstepping my boundaries.

Brittany looked up at the ceiling, her brow furrowed slightly, "They are. But it doesn't matter. I burned the book, I gave up on them and I'm not turning back, if I do and they do the same thing again I couldn't-" She turned on her side and acted as if she were very interested in my pillow. I knew she was crying and I felt like an asshole for pushing it.

I wasn't brave enough to kiss her, but I did work up the courage to lay next to her, and after a brief but fierce internal battle, I reached over and draped my arm around her waist. She took my hand and pulled it between her breasts.

Luckily she couldn't see my face or how red it turned.

I decided to talk to try and mask how hard my heart was beating – if she couldn't hear it she could certainly feel it. "You get Quinn better than I ever could, with you two I sometimes feel like I'm just some naive idiot that doesn't understand anything about people."

I heard her sniffle and chuckle a little, "What are you talking about? You are the smartest person I know."

That made me laugh, "Hardly. You have no idea how frustrating it is to feel so left out of everything."

Without warning she spun in my arms and I found myself face to face with the person it took all my willpower not to kiss from five feet away.

"Really? I wouldn't know?"

I averted my eyes to the wall above us, because just about every other direction held something I didn't want to get caught staring at.

"At least with you it's totally untrue."

"Hmm, I won't have a who's dumber argument with you, because you know you're the smartest and are just fish complimenting."

I laughed again, my eyes mistakenly finding hers. The desire to drop the damn act had never been stronger. I had Brittany in my room, on my bed, in my arms, her lips were inches away and I even felt in my gut that if ever there was a time for a sudden kiss, now would be it.

I didn't, because she broke our eye contact, looking unsure and like she had something to say.

At the very least I'd like to believe, sans that interruption, I would have done it.

"I do know what you meant before though, about running from things because you're scared. There are a lot of things I'm scared of and have run away from even though I don't even want to. You aren't the only one who worries what you're running from won't be a dog with candy. What I wish for the most is that someday I'll be as brave as you and be able to face my fears."

Desire was replaced with unbridled laughter, "W-what? Britt, I'm the biggest coward in the world!"

She rolled her eyes, "There you go complimenting fish again."

"What even gave you that idea?" I asked, still unable to contain my amusement.

"You came with me to burn my album."

"It wasn't my past to run from."

"You're in a fight club."

"You're in the same club."

"You got me home after the party and didn't run when you saw cops were there, _and_ didn't get scared when that one mean officer was questioning you."

"Your parents can't do anything to me and I'm a minor, there wasn't much the cops could do unless they caught me actually breaking the law."

"Object all you want, you're brave."

I sighed and dared to run my fingers gently up and down her back as I asked, "What is it that has you so scared?"

Her eyes left mine again, "Lots of things, but I don't need help, I have a plan."

"I hope you find a dog with candy," I joked.

She smiled sweetly at me, "Me too."

Our eyes met again and I could have sworn I saw her wanting a kiss as badly as I wanted to give her one. And just like that I was ready. Fuck the future – I was going to kiss Brittany Pierce. I decided then and there I would rather live with her upset with me for trying than living the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had just tried.

Finally, for once I had resolve.

Which meant that was a cue for abuela to knock on the door, "Santana, I'm going to make fajitas for lunch; do you or Brittany want any?"

I scrambled off my bed just in time for her to open the door and look questioningly to the both of us.

"Sure, that sounds good," Brittany said, sitting up and giving me a confused glance.

"Yeah, I'll take one," I said, panting from the sudden exertion and fear.

"Alright," abuela said and left, having clearly not suspected a thing.

My heart was pounding crazily and all my nerves felt raw and frayed, "So, um, was there something you wanted to do?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Actually," she stood and stepped closer to me, looking very bashful, "I was hoping I could help you for once. You've done everything for me, but I haven't been there for you at all."

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Quinn's orders, you still haven't destroyed anything have you?"

"Wh- er, I," I blustered, so very not ready to have to tell this lie, "Ye- uh, no."

"Good, then I'll help you."

"Well, my thing isn't a big deal, not like yours," I said, waving it off. "You had something that really needed to go and I only have a receipt."

"Why do you want to burn it?"

I was really backing myself into a corner, "It reminds me of how I tend to chase after things I can't have."

"What can't you have?"

These questions kept getting harder.

"Lots of things," I said vaguely.

She seemed to understand that I was dancing around a direct answer there, "What would burning it mean to you?"

These questions made the SATs look like optional questionnaires, "Er, what do you mean?"

"Like, would burning it mean that you'll never chase after something you can't get or would it mean you stop limiting yourself and make you realize there is nothing you can't get?"

I blinked stupidly at her, "Um, the former I suppose," she gave me a confused look and I clarified, "The first option."

Brittany shook her head, "You can't do this for the wrong reasons, then you'll be back where you were. There's nothing you can't have, Santana."

I looked at her in what I hoped was a meaningful way, "There are some things."

Grudgingly she nodded, "Yeah, okay not a unicorn, but no one can have one of those. Other than that you can have anything."

I smiled, "You think so, huh?"

"Of course I do. You should burn that receipt and let all your self-doubt burn with it."

I nodded and retrieved an ash tray and lighter from my dresser before going through some of the papers scattered over my desk and finding an old Burger Shack receipt. I folded it in half in the hopes of shielding her from the full truth, I tried to light it quickly in case she somehow recognized the back of the paper, but she stopped me. My worries that she had spotted the large logo at the top were soothed when she explained she only wanted to be sure to get a picture for Quinn.

I burned it and the process only took seconds, but while that little piece of paper curled up into ash, I watched Brittany photograph it wondering if I would change like everyone else had. If burning a symbol of my fears would actually get rid of them like they seem to have for everyone else.

I hoped so, because I was tired of this game where I stored enough bravery to finally confess my feelings only to have something stop me. I wanted to not care, and I was at a point where I was willing to blindly follow Quinn to achieve that.

Drunken, unstable, demon-possessed Quinn. Trusting her was dangerous, she was trying to swim with a stone tied to her legs, odds were she would drown and take us with her.

Then again I was already drowning.

* * *

The next time I saw Quinn she seemed to be back to her old self, more or less anyway. I could only assume that over the weekend she had handled her pregnancy situation since the demon in her seemed to have folded its wings for the time being. That and she looked pale and ill so either she had done something or was currently trying to do so.

Once more I tried to ask her about it. Once more she called me names and acted as if nothing happened.

When would I learn?

At lunch we sat with our usual entourage and I placed myself next to Quinn as usual, what was unusual was when she leaned in close to me and asked, "So how are things with Brittany?"

I just stared at her in total shock, usually her only reference to Brittany was to imply I'd never get her.

"Um, fine, I guess," I whispered back.

She seemed surprised, "Really? No bumping lovelies?"

"Not here please."

"So you did?"

I tried not to slam my fork down, but it still landed with a bit of a clatter when I turned to Quinn, "No, I didn't bump anything with anyone, we're just friends so please shut up."

She put her face in her hand and looked at me like I told her I just can't figure out how texting works, "You go over her house every Saturday and still nothing?"

"How did you know that?" I asked, suddenly very uncomfortable as I imagined Quinn stalking me up to Brittany's house and watching us through the window.

"I've been by a few times and your grandma always tells me you are out either at personalized cheer practice I know we don't have or with Bret, who I can only assume is Brittany. Both excuses lead to the same place."

"She never told me you'd been by," I said while trying to check my memory to be sure that was true.

"I asked her not to since I knew you'd wig out."

I nodded slowly and picked up my fork to take a bite of the unidentifiable lump of greens on my plate, "Look, this isn't me asking for information, but why is it always okay for you to be knee deep in my business but I can't even ask about you?"

I had asked her this before, but then I had been angry and antagonizing. This time I hoped our quiet calm conversation would prompt her to answer in kind.

"Your problems aren't the same as mine. I can help you – no one can help me."

That led me to believe the pregnancy had merely been a colorful decoration on the shit cake her life had baked for her, "How do you know?"

"Some things you just know," she sighed.

Just then Rachel walked into the lunch room, her head was low and her shoulders slumped as she walked by. Unlike every other day when she came in looking beat I knew what the cause was this time. I had seen the bulletin by the front door that stated Mercedes had landed the lead role in the play. Rumor had it Rachel was offered a secondary part but she had stormed off insisting that she was Maria or nothing. So here she was, nothing and daring to walk in front of Quinn Kick-'em-while-they're-down Fabray.

To my immense surprise she didn't say anything though, Quinn merely watched her walk away, her gaze on the smaller girl was intense, but not a word left her mouth.

Her jaw shifted before she turned back to me, "Fight club is going to grow, and there will be even more assignments of which you will not see the entire picture. Can you handle that?"

"I thought assignments weren't optional." Again, I say something that implies I want to do what she's asking.

"These are different; these aren't pranks. This will be the sort of thing you get in serious trouble for. I told you we are going to change everything."

I had promised myself time and again that I would trust Quinn. Even if she was crazy, hurtful, and mostly psychotic I did believe she was trapped in a hell she was trying to claw her way out of. I also believed she was trying to show us all the way out as well.

So far she had always been three steps ahead, all I had really learned was that I couldn't predict what she was going to do. Trying to force myself to trust her was pointless, she wasn't trustworthy, however I could follow her. She was on her way out of this death pit and heaven help me if I didn't believe she was the best person to lead us to the promised land.

We may get there broken and bruised but I truly believed we'd get there. I didn't need to trust her, I just needed to trust in that.

"Okay, count me in."

* * *

A/N: From this point on we are going to start sliding towards our conclusion, I'm too lazy to check my notes just now but I predict about 4-5 more chapters before we hit the end.

Some of you have been very eager for certain things to occur.

You will get your wish as of next chapter.


	10. A Change of Pace

"What do you think? Blue or pink?" Quinn asked, dangling two different vials of nail polish in front of my face.

I grudgingly looked at both rather unappealing options, "Neither, they're both ugly."

"Of course they are, but for shitty Walgreens nail polish which is better?"

I sighed and looked longingly at the door, "The blue, I guess."

She set the blue back on the shelf and stuck the pink slyly into her purse before finally turning to the print station we had come for. I rubbed my forehead roughly and gave her a mystified look, trying to deduce whether she really wanted to have us booted from a convenience store for some cheap crap.

With a flourish, she pulled a phone I knew wasn't hers out of her pocket, turned to the photo development kiosk and started to hook it up. I didn't ask why I was needed for this and even if I knew, it wasn't like I would so much as complain.

Her focus was intense as she scrolled through countless, pointless images, some of a lake with kids I didn't know swimming and a few of Cheerios who were fans of group pictures. Then came disturbing pictures of my chemistry and math teacher trying to taste what the other ate for dinner. That was a problem since they were both married, but not to each other.

"Ugh, Quinn, what the hell?"

"I don't need fight club members battling over a fear of bad grades – that's stupid and a waste. A little blackmail will keep everything level."

"So you had someone tail them and take pictures? Had it never occurred to you to just doctor the pics like you did for Becky?"

A know-it-all titter escaped her as she selected her print options, "Are you kidding? That sort of thing only works on the simple-minded, fearful creatures that are high school teenagers. Against the stupid beast that is middle aged high school teacher, actual proof is needed."

"Is there something I need to know about this?" I asked.

As of late she had stayed true to her word and had each of us running around doing random, miscellaneous errands. On occasion she would pull a few of us in for more direct mischief, like the time she had Tina and I make copies of what I recognized as test answers. It wasn't a big deal until we later found ourselves in our usual fight club location on a Tuesday bartering the answers to some of the AP Chem students.

I don't know what she got from that deal, Tina and I were there as the muscle oddly enough. I hadn't cared why and that hadn't changed, but I'd rather know ahead of time when I'm doing something that could get me expelled.

"I suppose. We are about to blackmail Mrs. Hall and Mr. Kane."

"I figured that much."

"Then that was a wasted question, wasn't it?"

"Am I allowed to know what it is we gain from doing this?"

My question made her think for a moment, "A free pass for history and math."

"Again, I figured that out on my own. Seriously? That's all you plan to get out of this? Free grades?"

"Free grades for the club," she said, like a child trying to prove her scribbles were a real drawing. "You think I should ask for more? I know Mrs. Hall co-owns a hotel with her husband, it's pretty upscale, I guess I could get us a few free nights there… I just don't want to push too hard on one source." She seemed to really take my question to heart as the images printed out. "Nah, this isn't damning enough. If this was a student I could get her to give me her car. At best this will cause a divorce and we'll have all graduated before we could benefits of that."

My new M.O. was not to care and not get worked up by the odd things she said nor to try and deduce their meaning, so my only response was, "Right."

"Since we're asking questions, may I inquire as to why you, one of our top fighters, have yet to battle the only person besides yourself to ever best Mack?"

Mac was one of the bleacher girls Quinn had brought to the group a few weeks before. We stuck to her new rule of no names, and since many more nameless faces had joined our ranks, but the girl hit like a Mack truck and the name just stayed.

The only other person besides myself who had ever beaten her in a fight was Brittany.

I wasn't going to hide my feelings on the matter though, "I'm not going to fight her, Q."

"Y'know, you burned your little receipt but have shown zero improvement on actually letting go of that hopeless bet."

"It wasn't about letting her go, it was about me declaring things as unobtainable before I'd even tried to obtain them."

"She's a thing now is she?"

"You know what I meant."

"To be honest I am a little surprised you are still on speaking terms with her."

My eyebrows jumped up before I could reign in the passivity I tried to keep up when talking to her, "Why is that?"

"After our fight, I figured you'd be on your moral high horse and all internally torn about whether you should be with someone who would strike the unborn."

I let my surprise show outright, because it was more than a little shocking that she'd brought the incident up. Every time I'd tried to do it since then I had been shot down with acidic words that burned so bad I didn't dare try anymore.

The memory of those tongue lashings was why I didn't comment on it any further, "I guess you don't know me as well as you thought."

I said it like I had really not traveled that path. What she didn't need to know was that I hadn't so much forgiven Brittany as I had simply stopped caring. How could I deem her unworthy to be my friend when I hung out with Quinn? Hypocritical didn't seem a strong enough word for that.

As if to prove my point she took the pictures that had been printed and nodded with satisfaction, "Between these two we won't be able to get off the honor roll if we tried."

I only followed her as she left, unwilling to share in the jubilation of coasting through school on the misery of others. In any case today was Friday, and I was more than ready to throw every concern I had into anyone who was foolish enough to stand up to me.

When Quinn got us back to the school it was more than a little early for us to go out back, and I was a bit startled to see Lauren waiting for us in the parking lot. Quinn wasn't. My relaxed, devil may care attitude allowed me to realize the reason she had dragged me with her for the prints was because she wanted me along when she used them. Which was going to be now.

Lauren had apparently been briefed already since she fell right into step with Quinn the moment she got out of the car. Either that or she was as well trained a lackey as I was.

I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I could bury it in less than an hour, that small kindling of guilt that plagued me for everything I did. It seemed to flare up at anything: the mere idea of me hiding my sexuality from my family to not defying Quinn at every turn. It was the conscience that cried wolf and I was done listening. When I was in the wrong I knew it, and I let that be that. Fight club had done that for me and for better or worse that was how I had decided to play out the rest of my high school career.

Mrs. Hall was confused yet smiling when we marched in her classroom, but when Quinn showed her the pictures she'd just acquired, her face went pale and she looked like she might throw up. We got the grades and the assurance that her lover would do the same. She caved so quickly and completely that I truly believed we could have asked for her car.

When that dirty business was done I left with the others, my course set towards the back of the school where we would meet the others for an evening of blissful pain. Instead, Quinn and Lauren veered off right before the doors, I considered not following, but a piercing glare from my evil overlord kept me right behind them.

Our detour took us right outside the men's locker room and where we stood waiting. We remained there while dozens of boys filtered out, most catcalling Quinn and me and a few throwing jibes at Lauren, but since neither of them reacted to it, I didn't either.

Then Karofsky came out.

Like a flash Lauren grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face into the lockers. My mouth fell open as blood burst from a gash in his lip and he wailed in pain; Quinn barely flinched as some of the crimson splatter sprayed at her feet.

"Janitor's closet," was all Quinn had to say before Lauren bodily hauled him into the nearby door that was cramped with cleaning supplies and, briefly after, the four of us.

There was barely room to move. The hot air was stuffy and it stank of chemicals, but Quinn stood before Karofsky as if it were a throne room and she were three feet taller than him.

While the large football player cradled his face Quinn looked him over with an inquisitive smile, "I seem to recall telling you to keep Puck from making team captain, and yet I hear rumors that very thing is going to happen soon."

"I don't make the call," he whimpered, more blood flowing from his mouth, the dim bulb swinging above us giving his face an even more ghastly pallor in combination with the gore. "Puck's been playin' really well."

Quinn rolled her eyes laboriously. "Yes, dear, that would be why I commissioned you to upset that."

"I don't know how you think I'll be able to do that!" he snapped, "What the fuck does it even matter to you?!"

"Yours isn't to reason why, yours is but to do and die."

His thick features twisted into confusion, "What?"

"Nevermind. Lauren."

Apparently 'Lauren' was code for 'Fuck him up'. The lager girl had the oaf flipped on his back in a flash, and in the small space he was awkwardly on his shoulders and upper back with his ass up in the air. As if they planned it this way Lauren moved to pin his arms down so he couldn't right himself or stop Quinn from sitting on his butt like a weird, chunky throne.

I worried for a moment when she turned to face him, her legs straddling his chest and her hands running slowly up the under side of his thighs.

"David, we talked about this at great length. Do you remember?"

"Yes," he choked out from his uncomfortable position.

"And you assured me at the time that you could do this for me, did you not?"

"I did," the words gurgled out of him, but could still be understood.

"And yet here we are. Although I am aware that you being ass up in the closet is nothing unusual, I'm sure girls being involved is a new one on you."

He didn't respond and I just stood there, unable for once to try and not work out what my purpose here was.

I didn't have to wonder long.

With a movement that was faster than anything Lauren had done Quinn pulled out a knife and for the first time in a long time I allowed panic to flood me. But this wasn't some random fear, this was legitimately something to get upset over.

Quinn dangled the blade over his face making him wince and try and twist away, "So, since you recall our talk I guess you know what happens now?"

"Look, just give me more time!" he shouted, the force of it making his words clearer.

"I was thinking I would just tell everyone your little secret, but it would be way more fun if I just carved, 'I'm a raging homo' on your forehead - what do you think, Santana?"

She turned to me and I could see her demon again; he was in her eyes, dancing in the madness there. It was frightening and a little hypnotic, like a snake charming its prey.

"Uh-" I started, and was cut off.

"Oh, hell! Let's just go ahead and do it," she said, and handed the knife to me, "It's fine if you improvise, like change homo to fagot or something."

I stood frozen watching the devil dance and wondering if this was an order, a challenge, a threat or a warning.

"Jesus, Quinn, I'll stop him if I have to break his legs, just stop! Please!" Karofsky begged.

With those mad eyes she turned back to him and for a long moment the small room was silent, "One more chance. If Puck makes team captain, I give you my solemn word I will not only tell the whole school you're gay, I'll flay all the skin off your dick. We clear?"

He nodded furiously, and she climbed off him before Lauren let him go, "Looks like someone shot a deer," Lauren commented as she stepped back out into the hallway.

Quinn pushed me out ahead of her before turning back to Karofsky, "Clean up all this blood before you leave."

I didn't hear his response, but I was willing to bet anything there wouldn't be a drop of blood to be found a few minutes later.

I followed them on instinct, but I didn't know where I was going and all I could hear was a loud ringing in my ears and the smell of blood, sweat, and fear from the small closet. I could not recall being more afraid of Quinn Fabray.

No. I could never justify being friends with Quinn and not Brittany.

To be fair I had no way of justifying being friends with Quinn in the first place.

"Before you wig out, I wasn't going to cut him or make you do it, and I have no interest in skinning his dick," Quinn said airily as she slowed to walk next to me.

I wasn't sure I believed her, "All that to keep Puck from being team captain?"

"I promised I would date him if he ever made the cut. I don't actually want that and Finn is far easier to manipulate, so I would like to keep him in the driver's seat of the jock mobile."

The bland taste in my mouth that I associated with terror started to fade and I dared to trust she was telling me the truth, "I don't actually care, but that seems a rather trivial thing to bust his face up over."

She shrugged, "He bullies that gay Hummel kid so bad the boy can barely walk the halls without looking like he's going to wet himself. If anyone deserves unnecessary brutality it's him," she stepped in front of me and walked backwards, somehow easily navigating through the door after Lauren as we went outside. "We're thugs, not villains. I know that worried you, and I know you're trying to trust me and sometimes I push that a little far."

Once again I was in utter shock, because she had never bothered to try and smooth my ruffled feathers before. In fact she seemed to get a weird sort of pleasure from plucking them. This time she was genuinely trying to keep things cool between us.

It was weird and unnerving.

"I didn't think you would."

"You did," she said simply.

Why did I insist on trying to lie?

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

I wondered if she meant that threatening someone mattered, or that what I thought of her mattered…

What specifically _it_ was I never found out, because she turned around and trotted to catch up with Lauren as we approached the crowd that fight club had become. There were new faces popping up every week it seemed, some I knew and others I never would have guessed shared a school with me.

Whenever new blood came in Quinn was quick to lay down the law as Queen of the roost, but to prove she was on a roll with being unpredictable she didn't, Rachel did. Meek, little knee socks Berry stood in front of everyone and ran through the rules as if they were her own.

It felt weird, to have Quinn in the background, watching like a parent supervising a child during a dangerous activity. Rachel handled it like she'd been doing it her whole life and honestly I think she got a thrill out of bossing them around.

"She's having a good time," said an all too familiar voice.

I turned to find Brittany at my side and smiled softly at her while my heart sped up as it usually did whenever she was around. I looked back to Rachel who was busy lining up the new arrivals to face their first serious beat down.

"I think so too."

"Santana?"

I turned back to her, because her voice seemed worried, and when I looked up her eyes confirmed it, but before I could answer Rachel called me over to break in our first newbie.

I gave her hand a squeeze, meaning it as a silent promise to talk to her when I got back, and trotted over to my opponent who I was startled to realize I did recognize. She was one of the freshmen Cheerios. I didn't remember her name and I didn't really care to, but she seemed to know me, because that same anger and distrust that had been on Tina's face when I first approached her was all over this kid.

I didn't let it keep me from stomping a mud hole out of her. It was crazy easy to win, but sometimes steamrolling someone was just as gratifying as a hard won battle.

This wasn't exactly one of those times, the girl tapped out before I could really even get warmed up. I still felt a little better since I landed a particularly delicious kick to her stomach that held every bit of doubt that had been creeping into my mind about… everything. I just rounded it all up into one big feeling and let it go.

After my fight I almost asked to take on someone else, but I remembered Brittany had been trying to tell me something, so I ran back to her. However, I could tell as I went back that whatever she had been planning to tell me had passed. I'd missed my moment, and it ate away at me, because I couldn't imagine what it could have been.

"Hey, what were you going to say before?" I asked, hoping beyond hope that this time I had failed to read her correctly.

"I forgot," she said with a shrug.

Damn.

I tried.

"Oh, well, if you remember, I'm here."

She barely responded, and I felt like I had missed out on something big. Now I wanted a fight with Rachel, something fierce, but she took on the next in line and after that I realized we had too many people to reasonably have someone go more than once.

I decided to save it for next Friday.

After everyone had gotten a turn who wanted one, the club adjourned. I was in higher spirits afterwards since Brittany hadn't fought and watching her walk away unscathed always brightened my evening.

I was more than a little ready to walk her home, but Quinn stopped me. Brittany stayed at my side and for a second Quinn looked like she might say something about it but didn't in the end.

She was quiet for a while and true to form I didn't ask why. We merely watched as the others walked off, and Rachel, Lauren, and Tina joined us. It felt a little weird being back with the core group, like an odd look back at when things were different, back before we all started blindly following the last person on earth who should lead.

The moment the others arrived, Quinn turned to Rachel, "You did good. I can see you leading from here on out."

"Hold it, what?"

The words left my mouth before I had even finished thinking them.

"We've gotten too big," Quinn said simply, "There's no way we can wait for everyone who wants to fight to do so. That means we're going to have to break off into groups. Rachel'll handle the new kids, toughen them up, and us," she pointed to the remainder of us standing around, "We'll continue on with ourselves and a couple of the bleacher girls and when that group gets too big we'll break off and start again."

My face remained passive, but my voice gave away my worry, "Uh, how many people do you expect to join this club? It isn't a secret if everyone's in it."

"Don't worry, I'm not saturating the pool, most of this club is made up of kids from other schools."

That got my full attention, "Pardon?"

"This shitty system is a high school problem, not a McKinley problem."

"How did you even-" then I decided I didn't care, "Fine."

"Alright, last order of business: Rachel, you had an assignment to propose?"

"Yeah, the school play - I want to trash it. More specifically I want to trash Mercedes."

This day was just full of surprises, "Why?" I asked.

"Does it matter?" Rachel snapped, but she didn't scare me, not like Quinn did.

"Actually, it does."

"She stole my role, any further reasoning is none of your business."

"No, she outsang you. I heard the audition."

I had never seen someone so white turn so red, "I told her before the audition how much the part meant to me and she said, and I quote 'I hope you get the part. The only thing I have the confidence to play is a background character.' Then she proceeds to steal the lead role right out from under me. Old Rachel would have taken that and wished her well, but this one is more than a little pissed."

Brittany and I exchanged bewildered looks, "Are you serious?" Brittany asked.

Rachel's eyes pinched shut and she exhaled roughly, "I don't want to have to explain this any further. I know it seems petty and simple to you, but it means something to me; no, it means everything to me. I've been denied every dream and prayer I've ever had and quite frankly I'm over the disappointment and am ready to take matters into my own hands. Is that quite enough to quell your concerns?"

"Sure," I replied in the hopes of shutting her up.

Quinn seemed nothing but amused by the exchange, "What's the plan?"

That seemed to soothe Rachel's tantrum, "I was thinking along the lines of wardrobe sabotage and if at all possible vocal sabotage as well. I talked with a few of our indebted chemistry students and they made it clear they could get their hands on a few viral strains, so laryngitis is an option."

"That's…" Brittany started, but seemed unwilling to finish.

"Stupid," Lauren chimed.

"Really stupid," Tina finished.

"How? She needs her voice to sing and her costume to go on stage!" Rachel snapped.

"They're right," Quinn added, "Ripping her dress is juvenile and more a punishment for the wardrobe department than Mercedes and any illness will be written off as unfortunate not malicious. She needs to know we've been there."

Rachel frowned, "Should I create a logo for us to brand onto her belongings? Something like our club initials in a tasteful font?"

Quinn gave her a kind yet chastising smile, "I like your spunk, but you don't have the chops for real vengeance yet."

"Well, then what, Quinn?!" she snapped, clearly irritated that her plan had been shot down.

"Carrie," she said instantly, and we all stared uncomprehendingly, "We get some pig's blood and rig it to dump on her head like in Carrie."

I didn't like that idea, partially because of the cruelty but mostly because I recalled Carrie killed everyone at the school afterwards.

Even Rachel seemed reserved, "I don't know about that-"

"Do you want to get her back or don't you?"

"I do, but-"

"Then I'll talk to my connections in the props department and we'll set it up, her big debut will be trashed and she'll never oppose you again."

I could see this didn't sit right with Rachel, and Quinn could see it too, and that's why she sunk her claws in deeper.

"I guess you could take the safe route, do some simple prank that may not even keep her from performing or trust the chem geeks to make her sick without causing an outbreak that eventually hits you too. I don't think you want to though. You're right, old Rachel would probably do nothing and let it happen. Is this what you want for new Rachel? A small splash in a pond no one cares about? Do this and I doubt anyone will try out for a main role again, you'll have full run of the place. And before you worry about if that's cheating or unfair for future performances, ask yourself if anyone who would try out would have an honest chance against you anyway."

That was some next level manipulation.

Rachel thought it over and nodded, "Alright, let's make it happen."

If Tina and Lauren had any reservations they didn't show them as they walked away with Rachel. If I cared at all, I might comment that this felt a lot like pointless bullying, but then again, like with Karofsky, I didn't exactly have the full story.

Quinn watched them walk away before she turned to me, "I have high hopes for her. If you fail, I think she may well take your place."

I had also given up trying to decipher the weird little things she said, so I just nodded and took Brittany's hand to guide her home.

* * *

The following Sunday was a new beginning, in a good and bad way.

Though mostly bad.

I was lying down on the couch with my abuela, watching television as we usually did when she asked me, "How are things with Bret? You've been seeing him almost every weekend and I have yet to place a name with a face - are you afraid to let me see him?"

My eyes danced around the room before they fell back on the television, "No, I just… I like things how they are between us."

"What would change if you invited him over?"

"Nothing really, but, I mean, I feel like, in a way, if you meet him it'll be a step towards something I don't want."

"Santana, you aren't making any sense," she laughed.

"I feel like he's the kind of guy I'd run away with y'know, and I don't want it to come to that."

I didn't expect her to laugh at that, but she did. She laughed hard, "Are you serious? You haven't even asked the boy on a date and you're ready to run away with him? Now I really need to meet him."

"Abuela-"

"Cálmate," she said with a wave of her hand, "I'm interested in your life, and I can see you don't want to share everything right now, so don't mind me. I can't help but ask."

I looked down to my hands that were twisting nervously, "I would like you to meet him someday."

"Hmmm," she hummed in content agreement as she turned her gaze to the show neither of us seemed too invested in.

There was silence for a while, the colors and sounds washing over us, and in my case not making the full trip from my eyes to my brain. Instead, my head was full of images of trying to explain that Bret was in fact Brittany and waiting to see how that would go over.

She pulled me from that, though, "I understand you feel very strongly about this boy, but should you ever feel like you want to leave us all for him, ask yourself if you are sure that once you throw everything away, you won't end up with even less."

I frowned, "What do you mean by that?"

"Young love is funny, it always seems bigger than anything, but years later you look back and see just how small it was." I sat up to protest, but she held up a hand, "I'm not telling you that what you feel isn't real, I'm only saying that you might not see everything. Betting your entire future on the feelings of another teenager is dangerous… it's even dangerous for adults." She seemed to be lost in her own mind like I had been for a moment, then she turned to me and gave my leg a soft pat, "Lo que quiero decirte es, follow your heart, but don't let it lead you off a cliff."

I nodded my understanding and she gave my leg another pat before she went back to watching television.

I felt so very alone.

* * *

That night I went up to my room, ready for bed and a little nervous for school since Quinn texted me to let me know we had some work to do for the play. I put on my nightgown and crawled into bed when my phone went off.

Another text.

The tone told me it was from Brittany.

What that meant was that I was out of bed and huddled over my phone almost right away; the text simply read: **U up?**

Yes, was sent back right away. Seconds later my phone rang, and I almost dropped it in my desperation to answer, but eventually got it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I know it's late, but… do you think you could come over?"

"Why?"

To this day I don't know what's with me and stupid questions I should never ask, because the answer doesn't matter.

"Friday I didn't really get a turn to fight and I kind of thought maybe, since the club can break into smaller groups, you would fight me," her voice was small and worried and it made me feel the same.

"Um," I had seconds to think, I didn't want to deny her anything ever, but I couldn't hit her. I wouldn't, even if she begged me, "Where exactly do you want to fight? I don't think I can make it to the school."

"You could come here. My parents took Dania to visit some of our relatives for the weekend, so they won't be home till tomorrow night."

We had gone out to eat on Saturday, she hadn't seemed bothered at all and certainly hadn't mentioned she was home alone.

"And they didn't take you?" I asked, feeling offended for her.

"No, but I asked not to go."

With a sigh I thought hard and then came to the conclusion that just because she asked me to fight didn't mean I had to fight back.

"Sure, I'll be right there."

I dressed quickly, wondering if I should wake abuela and come up with some excuse, but since I didn't know how long I'd be gone, I decided no explanation was best.

In my haste I even dared to take the car, though it was also in foresight that I would probably be too beat up to have a comfortable walk home. On the drive over I considered trying to talk her into sex as a substitute for fighting, but since I couldn't muster the courage to ask for a kiss, I couldn't seriously consider the option.

When I pulled up in her driveway, I found her waiting at the door and when I got out of the car and approached she left and headed straight for the back yard. I followed her through the hall trying to figure if her silence was due to whatever had her so upset she couldn't wait another five days to let go. If so, I would take every last burden she had, she could hit me until my ribs cracked and all I would be was happy that I could help.

I wondered if this was the cliff abuela warned me about.

The house was dark and so was her yard, the only light came from the moon and the faint glow provided by the street lights. She stood ready, off to the side of the garden and I wondered if here in the dark I might be able to tell her the truth. I walked over to her, wishing to convey my feelings somehow. She had been able to read Quinn so easily; all I could do was hope she'd read me.

Or maybe she already had and was avoiding bringing it up to keep from hurting me.

Whatever the truth was it didn't matter. I raised my fists and waited.

Brittany watched me and for the first time I couldn't make out a single emotion – she didn't seem happy, sad, reserved or even angry. If anything she seemed focused, but that told me nothing other than that her strikes would be painfully accurate.

"Ready?" she asked and I only nodded, nerves keeping me from doing anything more.

She stood there and I remembered immediately that her preferred method of fighting was to wait for her opponent to attack her. I accepted that if I was going to play this role, it wouldn't do to just turtle up, I was going to have to at least pretend to fight. So I did. I stepped forward and took a swing that was never intended to land; she ducked it and made me realize that watching her fight and actually being in the thick of it were two different things. She was out of my range so fast I felt like I might have misjudged her initial distance.

The next time I saw her I only had enough time to realize she was about to rush me, quickly I threw up my hands to push her off course, a move that would have worked on someone with a much shorter reach. I felt her grab the back of my knee and yank, leaving me no choice but to topple backwards and like that she had a free pass to wail on me. Knowing she wouldn't hit me in the face, I covered my stomach and hoped she wasn't in the mood for a ground fight.

I was tense and ready for the onslaught which made her kissing me even more of a surprise. I had the presence of mind to let it happen, to let her tongue slide into my mouth, but I was a little off kilter, because I wasn't kissing her back. Instead, all the carefully trapped concerns I'd kept wrangled up burst out all at once.

The insurmountable jumble manifested in me pushing her back and trying to get a read on her eyes that were almost black, not with the insanity I was used to seeing in Quinn's but with what I sincerely hoped I was correct in interpreting as lust.

"What-"

"Sex is a valid form of fighting, right?" she asked, her eyes momentarily unsure.

My only answer was to finally kiss her back.

I would _like_ report that after that moment I laid her down in the grass and did everything I'd ever dreamed of. I'd love to paint myself as a confident and self-assured lover.

The truth was the moment I kissed her I turned into a total bitchcake, while at the same time Brittany gained a confidence that was both surprising and incredibly arousing. She nibbled at my lips and down my jaw to my ear, making me pant and gasp like it was the first time I'd ever made out with someone.

Her mouth never left my skin even when she pulled me to my feet and we stumbled along, trying to navigate through the darkness to the door.

I didn't know what this was. If this was just her way of relieving stress or if this was actually her excuse to get me into her bed, which, given my infatuation, seemed almost comical.

I did know that this was a bad idea, because even though I wanted her so very badly, I knew myself well enough to know I wasn't ready. There was no way I could be with her in public and I wasn't even sure I would want her parents knowing about us. I knew there was no version of this that ended without heartbreak, for both of us.

If I were as strong as the person I wanted to be, I would have told her to wait; I would have talked with her about my feelings and understood hers before allowing another kiss.

Instead I let her kiss me all the way up the stairs while trying to help her get my shirt of, and I felt an insurmountable amount of guilt because I _knew_ this was wrong and that I was going to hurt her. It wasn't something I could bury, this was bigger than that.

It didn't stop me, and to try and feel better about it I told myself that my confession wouldn't have stopped her either. That didn't do a whole lot, but her pushing me onto her bed did - it made me completely unable to turn on the brakes. I let her do as she pleased, remaining uncharacteristically timid.

And when she pulled off my bra and leaned back to look at my exposed chest, I realized my nervousness was because I never had been anyone's lover before. I'd been a plaything, an easy lay, a way to cure boredom, but nothing more. I felt nothing for the boys I'd been with and whatever Quinn and I were it wasn't lovers. This was the first time that someone else mattered when it came to sex and I had no idea what to do.

Brittany didn't say anything, she only looked at me like I'd always wished she would. All I could do was lie there, exposed under her gaze, and stare back, hoping she could somehow see the situation she was about to put us both in.

When her hands explored my breasts I wished she knew that only she had the power to stop this, because I was too weak.

When her mouth followed that same path I wished she knew I didn't deserve her or her loving looks.

She worked her way back to my mouth and kissed me with confidence, yet somehow I knew that this was her first time doing this and it made me feel that much worse.

I still kissed her back and pulled eagerly at her shirt, because I needed to get lost in something beside my own head. That was a dark and unforgiving place, and if I was going to make love to the girl I cherished most in my life, it should at least be a pleasant memory, even if I was sure that everything that followed wouldn't be.

So I did. I forgot my fears, doubts and misgivings and just let myself feel the joy of being with her. I sat back and looked at her in the same way she looked at me. I saw light bruises from fight club and old scars from childhood, I also saw vast expanses of flawless skin stretched over solid muscle, but most of all I saw someone who hadn't asked me over just to blow off steam. I was sure I was more to her than I had ever dared to imagine.

The unshakable confidence that she had displayed from the moment she had pinned me to the ground wavered when she placed a hand on my chest and moved it slowly downwards. She seemed nervous and unsure. She had no reason to be, though. I showed her that by taking her hand in mine and guiding her to where she was needed most. I suppose she was surprised by the effect she'd had on me, and the moment she felt how wet I was, her touch was suddenly sure and true. The intimacy of the act sparked something that had her kissing me again and I melted into her arms while her fingers moved with a deftness that made me wonder if this really was the first time she'd been with a girl.

I could feel her smile into my neck as she pulled me on top of her and boldly slipped a finger inside me which made me absolutely lose track of up from down. The sound I made seemed to amuse her, because I felt that smile widen as she nibbled at my collar bone, and the competitive side of me refused to allow her to continue to dictate the pace. If me suddenly reaching between her legs and stroking slowly surprised her, she hid it well behind a deep moan and increased pressure on her love bites.

My breathing was shallow and my heart couldn't beat faster if it tried; through all that it was rather hard to focus on keeping pace, especially when I entered her and she found herself unable to hide her reaction as well as she had when I first touched her. Our kisses became more sloppy and unfocused while the rhythm we found became more in sync, her hips started to grind up into my hand and I pushed back into her, creating a beautiful friction and the perfect amount of pressure.

Brittany seemed to know what I wanted before I could even try to voice it, her body twisting in all the right ways, and her mouth constantly keeping me worked up. She even knew to add another finger and push deeper to have me gasping for breath. On top of that, whenever I did something that made her shudder she would return the action to me and somehow it seemed to have a greater effect.

As much as she was working me into a frenzy I felt the telltale clenching around my fingers before I was quite at the edge. She grabbed me by the hair and gave me a fierce, bruising kiss as she climaxed. I held her close and felt every moan that came from deep within her reverberate through my whole body.

I didn't want the moment to end, ever.

But it did.

And through it all she had never broken her rhythm within me and looking at her naked and panting below me meant it wasn't long before I followed.

I buried my face in her chest while blinding ripples of pleasure washed over me, trying not to whimper in pure relief. Brittany rubbed soothing circles into my back and didn't remove her fingers until I fell completely still.

In the silence afterwards the self-hatred I'd pushed away came creeping from its hiding spot and I felt so very sad that I couldn't be the one for her.

I was angry and sad, but I couldn't quite muster regret.

I rolled off her and lay at her side, looking into her endlessly blue eyes and trying to think of what I should say.

Turned out I didn't need to worry about breaking the ice, "I guess I lost that match, huh?" Brittany asked with a playful smile.

I had almost forgotten that this started as a fight club thing, "We could always have a rematch."

I didn't know why I was being coy and avoiding the issues that needed to be addressed… well, I knew why, but I couldn't believe I was so dead set on the bullshit course I had set for myself.

"I think I'd need a little break before that," she laughed.

There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I wanted to tell her, and instead I just said, "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

True, but it was so far from what our post-coital discussion needed to be about it was almost comical.

She smiled at me before pulling my chin close to give me a deep, slow kiss that somehow made me melt again, "I find that hard to believe, because I know you have a mirror."

I laughed, "Now who's fish complimenting?"

I played it off like she hadn't just flattered the shit out of me.

A chuckle left her as she picked something out of my hair, "Grass," she clarified.

"You body slammed me to the ground, so I wouldn't be surprised if you found way more."

Brittany looked away bashfully, "I've wanted to do this for a very long time," she admitted, and a smarter person than I would have used that as a gateway into the talks that needed to happen.

Leaning over her again, I gave her another kiss, but this one was a bit more forceful and urgent than the one she had just given me, "In that case it would be a shame for us to stop here."

I am so stupid it baffles me sometimes.

I didn't talk to her about my feelings. I didn't tell her how hard I would fight to hide what we'd done.

I made love to her again, thinking that everything would work out somehow.

Afterwards, when I was nestled close to her while she slept I tried to think of how I could actually be with her. Every road seemed to lead to me losing everyone I loved and at the very least losing the one family member I loved back.

Family was important, but then again why couldn't Brittany be my family?

Or were those the thoughts of a teenager who was willing to bet everything on a high school relationship?

I hadn't even talked to her about what this was and I was ready to sign her up as the replacement to everything I knew and loved. As warped as that love was, it was there in some capacity.

I couldn't sleep and the weight of the decisions facing me made me squirm.

So I left while Brittany still slept, shoving the infinite amounts of guilt into the increasingly cramped hole reserved for fight club.

I made it home and into bed before abuela woke, and while I lay huddled in my bed trying not to let my conscience talk, I made the depressing realization that even though fight club had been a tremendous help it was becoming more of a crutch than a solution.

* * *

On Monday morning I knew I was fucked.

I'd ruined something beautiful with my spineless attitude and even if I were smart enough to fix it right away, leaving had probably made the situation untenable.

I had just pushed myself way up shit creek without a paddle and a hole in the boat.

I wanted so much to be able to just march downstairs and yell to the world that I was completely and utterly gay.

Wanting something and doing it are different things.

My mind did remind me that for the longest time I'd wanted to sleep with Brittany, then I remembered how badly I was botching that up and once more it seemed best to leave fantasy to remain just that.

I got up and dressed in my fake Santana costume, complete with high ponytail and bitchy attitude, and made it downstairs in time to greet Quinn as she pulled up to the driveway.

When I saw her sitting in the driver's seat with a Cheshire grin, I knew my day was going to be a long one.

I remembered my promise to not get sucked into asking questions that would only get me cursed out and stayed silently in my seat.

"Where were you last night?"

If every other upsetting event that had occurred had set off an alarm, it had been like an alarm clock or a church's bells compared to this. This was an ambulance siren going off in an echoing hallway with a fire alarm triggered while hurricane sirens blared outside.

"What?"

"I came over last night and you weren't home."

"Why?" I asked the question and didn't even care how much shit she might give me for it.

"Because I wanted to talk to you," she said smoothly, "And you didn't answer your phone."

I hadn't brought my phone with me to Brittany's and I hadn't checked it when I woke up to avoid looking at the text she had sent me an hour before.

"What was it that couldn't wait until now?" I asked, hoping to distract her from her previous line of questioning.

"It isn't relevant anymore – where were you last night?"

I glared at her, "I have a feeling you already know."

Her smile widened and she finally pulled out onto the road, "You were with Brittany."

"What, did you follow me?"

"You must think my life is really boring if that's how you imagine I spend my Sunday nights. So did you finally get a taste of what you'd been hunting for so long?"

My eyes narrowed, "I think you know the answer to that too."

She laughed, "I didn't, but I do now. You and Ms. Pierce finally sealed the deal. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I didn't think you'd much care either way."

"How can you say that? I've been telling you to go for it since you met her."

I decided not to counter that by explaining that she had followed the encouragement with taunts and hateful comments about my sexuality, "It doesn't matter, I doubt she'll want to ever see me again anyway."

That seemed to amuse her, "Fail to perform?"

I rolled my eyes, "No, I left before she woke up and now she's going to think I'm the world's biggest asshole, which I am."

Quinn didn't respond immediately. In fact she seemed to be thinking quite hard about what I said and I wasn't sure that was a good thing.

As was her habit she pulled her sunglasses out of the middle console and slipped them on with a smile.

"Santana, you may be the biggest idiot I know, but if anyone knows how to be with an idiot it's Brittany." I wasn't sure who she had insulted more in that statement and before I could think of an appropriate response she continued, "You two have something that'll only go away if you both let it go, so don't feel bad about fucking up."

I was a little miffed at her encouraging words, "I-It's not that easy, I-"

"I never said it would be easy. Hell, I can guaran-damn-tee it'll be hard as hell with a heap of roadblocks between you and happiness, but it'll happen if you let it."

"If I let it, I might lose everything."

She scoffed, "See, this is why I was hesitant to let you burn that damn receipt instead of your fucking house. Think for a minute, Lopez: You live in a house where your parents rarely visit and your grandmother thinks lesbians are one step below Nazis – what on earth are you so scared of losing?!"

I shrugged and tried to play off the tears that were forming, "They're a crap family, but I still love them, and as long as there's hope I don't want to lose it. I want to think Brittany could be understanding and accept the way I am about my sexuality but that's a big gamble, and so is telling my family. I just…" I pretended to rub my eyes in exhaustion to fight the tears, "I want to make it through high school and get to a point where I can live on my own and not have to think about it. But right now I can't fight this battle. I can't make life decisions _right now_ and deal with all the day to day fuckery that life keeps throwing at me."

I expected her to go off on some weird rant, to call me names and call me out, to tell me I was being a moron and to pull it together.

I expected to hear about how that was what fight club was for.

All I heard her say was, "Yeah, I know that feeling."

* * *

A/N: Gonna try to have these last few chapters out sooner.


	11. Graduation

Once again I found myself somewhere silly doing something dumb.

Rachel and I were currently balanced in the rafters above the stage with a bucket of what I prayed was animal blood. Down below was a stunning stage full of well made props and backdrops; there were also several drama students standing guard down below while they went on about their business. It was still almost a month until the play went into production, but apparently this was the only time we could get the bucket into position before the area would be constantly patrolled by teachers trying to make sure everything was in place.

I should have been in gym practicing our nationals routine with the rest of the Cheerios, but Quinn had made up some excuse for me to be here. Presumably she'd cooked one up for Rachel as well, because despite everything I couldn't see her skipping class to rig a traumatic prank for a singing rival.

"What sort of knot should I use for this do you think?" Rachel asked me as she took the length of thick rope we had been given and began to string it around the handle of the bucket.

"I don't know, and I don't know why we are personally involved. I thought this whole club assignment thing was supposed to be anonymous. It would make more sense to have the stage kids do this."

Rachel gave a sigh and a nod that implied she agreed, "Quinn seemed quite insistent that I oversee this personally. I, to some degree, concur that shoving another diva out of the limelight should be the direct responsibility of the one that wants her gone. However, during this scene in the ongoing play that is life, I wouldn't mind being more of a background character."

"You? In the background?" I joked.

She rolled her eyes, "I am capable of it. In any case, the main reason I took this job personally was to be sure no animals were harmed."

I looked over to the bucket worriedly, "Then what's-"

"Santana, we are in cahoots with the drama department – they have more fake blood than they know what to do with. Especially since Principal Figgins won't let them use it in any productions."

"But it smells like ass," I said, giving the air over the bucket a test sniff to make sure it was the source of the sour, decaying smell that kept wafting to my nose.

"I added a few organic ingredients from local flora and compost heaps," she said with a shrug.

I sat, keeping the bucket stabilized on our narrow perch while she worked. The silence was actually rather pleasant, with only distant clatter from the students below to disrupt it.

I don't know why I saw fit to break that.

"How's your dad?"

She visually stiffened and I immediately regretted asking the question, "Still dying; how's yours."

"Still a negligent asshole."

My answer seemed to surprise her. "I would have thought you were the spoiled rich kid of doting parents."

"I am, but their definition of doting differs from yours."

The knot she had been working on finally came together and she tested its weight by trying to pull the bucket from my hands by the rope. It slipped loose instantly. Rachel sucked her teeth in aggravation and tried again.

"Is he getting better at least?" I asked. I'm not entirely sure why I wanted to know.

"He was better for about two days. Then he got infinitely worse to the point where the doctors felt content enough to send him home to die since there is literally nothing they can do."

She spoke with a tone one might use to explain how to work a particularly complicated television remote. There were no tears, no sorrow in her voice, only a cold, detached droning that let me know fight club was doing its job.

I wondered if it wasn't doing it too well.

I wondered if maybe I wasn't the only one who turned a helping hand into a crutch.

"What kind of cancer is it?"

"I really don't want to talk about it," she snapped.

If anything, I could totally respect that, "Sorry."

She continued to fumble with the knot until it finally formed into something usable.

"It doesn't matter."

Clearly it did or she wouldn't be in fight club, but I wasn't one to poke at others' carefully built walls. She could have her lies if they meant she could face another day of watching her father waste away.

We tested the weight again and this time it held. We weaved the rest of the rope through the pulleys someone had marked for us and finally headed down to solid ground. It was then that we found ourselves in the awkward position of being alone with nowhere to go.

"Wanna wait out the period in the parking lot?" I asked.

Her eyes turned to the general direction of the back of the school, "Isn't it kind of hot for that?"

It had actually grown cooler over the past few weeks, but at this hour it was still pretty blazing hot.

"A little, but the other option is to stand around here and potentially get caught."

"It seems as though that would be a possibility amplified tenfold by standing out in the open."

"Trust me, no one goes out there but people who don't want to get caught."

She considered it before giving a relenting sigh, "Lead the way."

We made our way out to the back and I discovered that it felt immediately weird to be out in the parking lot without Quinn. Though it could have been that it was weird to be anywhere alone with Rachel. Whatever it was I pushed my unease aside and settled under the lone tree that grew by the edge of the searing asphalt.

I didn't expect her to sit right next to me, but she did and looked out over the shimmering waves of heat as if there was something interesting to see there. At first I suspected that we would spent the remainder of our time in silence, and honestly that was fine with me I had no intention of breaking it this time, but of course Rachel wasn't capable of prolonged silence.

"I don't know how I feel about this plan," she said quietly.

I scoffed, "Maybe the reason you're uncomfortable with this whole thing is that you know Mercedes gets shit on as badly as you do, worse at times, and you're doing this to make yourself feel better, but you know it'll hurt her badly."

"Because fight club is so different from that," she snorted.

It was. Mercedes hadn't agreed to do battle; there was nowhere for her to unload her pains, she was only being signed up to relieve Rachel's. But I knew she didn't want to hear that. She wanted to have her vengeance and be allowed, just this once, to enjoy it without any nagging guilt.

To me it seemed the bigger fight club got, the more selfish it became.

* * *

Ever since I left Brittany alone in her room I had been dreading Friday. For the first time I was considering skipping fight club all together and coming up with some sort of highly contagious disease to catch for Saturday. I had no idea how I was going to face her, or what I would even say when I did.

She had texted me twice and called me once.

I hadn't answered the call.

The first text asked if I would come by again soon before Saturday and the second had been sent Wednesday morning wishing me well and telling me to have a good day at school.

The only one I replied to was the second and all it said was: U 2.

I felt endlessly horrible for not making time for her, for not trying to figure something out, some way that we could work. Instead I came up with ways to avoid her.

So when Thursday rolled around and she texted me again, asking if I wanted to hang out that evening, I sent back a simple no. Instead I opted to hang out with Quinn and our mindless posse of cheerleaders – if ever there was a place to get lost in endless tedium, it was with them.

We went to Breadstix and I felt my stomach sink at the memories I had of eating there with Brittany, but then one of the other girls went on a rant about how stupid the hockey jocks were and I decided to make myself head of that discussion.

When we were seated I was in full swing. I'd already told a mousy brunette she was going to get cut from the team due to her love handles and a dye-job redhead that she'd do better to try for brunette since the red brought out her natural blotchiness. I was being exceedingly bitchy and not caring a lick about how bad it was hurting, because if I had to avoid fight club I'd have to beat someone up somewhere.

Quinn was right there with me starting up a titillating tale and ending it with a biting jibe at one of our admirers. I ordered a salad and in doing so dared one of them to order any actual food. One girl asked for a slice of pizza and I spent the majority of my meal describing her future life on welfare, because she was going to be too fat to actually work.

I was halfway through my salad when everything went straight to hell.

My whole world burst into black flames, because while I was out in full swing of being the worst version of myself imaginable, Brittany had walked up to our table.

I turned to Quinn, my face begging, pleading, for her to help me, but when my eyes met hers I knew that this wasn't by accident.

Brittany was here because Quinn had asked her to come.

I felt physically ill, because behind the humor and mischief I could see the demon laughing at my torment and I wondered if the demon wasn't just the real Quinn, living behind glassy green eyes to hide what it really was.

"Well, look who it is," Quinn exclaimed as she instructed a few peons to make room for the girl who had just arrived. Of course this room was to be found next to me.

Brittany turned to me with a meek smile, "Hi."

"Hey," I returned softly, thrown completely off my game by my nervousness.

"I invited her to join us. I enjoyed having her over the other night and I'm hoping we can all be better friends," Quinn announced to the table.

The freshmen looked jealous that she was getting the blessing of their leader, the sophomores seemed curious and the few juniors and seniors that had been bested for the role of leader just continued to look bitter.

Brittany ordered an actual meal that seemed to make everyone around her hungry and a little upset since I didn't call her out on it. The conversation was light and relatively pleasant at first, in part due to the fact that my attitude was significantly less volatile once she appeared. As our underlings interacted with her without issue I felt like things might be alright, but as with everything involving Quinn I should have known better. I honestly and truly should have known.

I wanted to run away when I first saw her, I should have.

When the last of our plates were taken by our waitress the question that sparked the end of my relative peace came out.

"I talked to you at Quinn's party, right?" asked a girl I had previously called a dyslexic gorilla turd.

"Yeah, you're Melanie," Brittany responded, an optimistic smile on her face.

I was shocked that she knew the names of my underlings and I didn't.

"I am," Melanie seemed quite pleased to be remembered and Quinn seemed quite pleased to see me squirming in discomfort.

"Speaking of which," Quinn began and my eyes snapped to her because she held my life in her hands, "You two seemed to have a pretty good time. I woke up in the morning and found you passed out on the floor with Santana drooling all over you."

So she was going to start this right away. She was doing this for the sole purpose of humiliating me. I told her what happened with Brittany, so this line of questioning was purely malicious; a conclusion backed by the fact that the every other girl at the table was now giving me odd looks.

I scratched my head and avoided looking Brittany in the eye, "I was pretty drunk that night."

It hurt to say that, waking up next to her was something I wanted to do every day for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately Brittany added, "I was too, but it would have been fine even if I wasn't."

That made the others go quiet in a way that told me they were thinking all the things I'd fought hard for them never to think.

"You make a habit of letting girls sleep on you?" joked one of the sophomores, one of our cheerios who seemed to think that constantly being an asshole would keep her from being the butt of our cruelty.

I didn't blame her really, because it clearly was working for us.

Brittany didn't know that though. She smiled at the snake disguised as a human thinking this was a normal conversation, "No, it's fine if Santana does it, though."

"Is that so?" she laughed and those looks seemed to intensify, all eyes were on me and Brittany and I _really_ wanted to run away.

"Oh, don't act like it's weird," Quinn snorted, "I saw you doing shots off Alice's stomach, so don't take that tone."

I wouldn't be able to pick Alice out of a crowd and I couldn't remember this bitch's name, let alone what she did at any particular party. As angry as I was about the situation I felt, at least temporarily, a little glad Quinn was around.

The girls snorted, daring to defy Quinn's dismissal, "I did a shot off her; it's not like I fucked her."

I didn't like where the conversation was going and felt it was prudent to steer it in a different direction, "It doesn't matter who did what – it was a party. Keep being such a cunt about it and you won't be invited to any more."

She glared back at me and I knew this was a power struggle. She wanted to poke at my reputation as much as possible in the hopes of having the perceived power of my position as second in command. This happened often and I was quiet adept at repelling such attempts from my teammates, but this time Quinn interjected and made everything so much worse.

"Jen, why the upturned nose? I didn't think you were such a prude. Who cares if you did sleep with her?"

She looked shocked and confused by the question, and to be honest I was too. Was Quinn trying to declare homosexuality as a high school norm? After all her talk of never wanting that near her was she honestly trying to do that for me?

Did it matter? Even with her backing I couldn't see the other girls following on this.

Jennifer, or at least that was what I assumed Jen was short for, seemed reluctant to respond, "Um, it would be more than a little gay…" she said slowly.

As much as she was willing to chip at me this was the big boss, the queen bee that could crush her into nothing.

"Gay? How? That only really applies to men, girls with girls is more like assisted masturbation. I've fucked Santana, but it didn't mean anything."

I didn't actually respond to that.

I was so mortified I couldn't really say anything. She had just shared a piece of information I would have preferred to take to my grave with a bunch of power hungry teens who could use that against me and, more disturbingly, Brittany. I dared to glance at her out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn't tell what she was thinking. She was only looking down at her hands folded on the table and I somehow couldn't talk myself into believing that was a good thing.

"You've had sex with Santana?" Jennifer said slowly, as if trying to let those words sink in.

"Yeah," Quinn shot back daring her to make something of it, "I get bored and stressed like everyone else. An orgasm can help both those problems most efficiently, so who actually cares how I have it?"

Her philosophy seemed to make everyone at the table uncomfortable, but I realized that if I wanted to get out of this, I was going to have to back her up.

In front of Brittany.

There is no way to describe how much I hated my life at that moment.

Jennifer dared to be the voice of our drones, "So if you aren't sleeping with Puck then you gave it up to Santana," she said, a small amount of confidence from the fact that she was quite sure she had caught us in the midst of some serious lies.

Quinn laughed, "You think so? So every time you see a gynecologist you have a quickie?"

"I-"

"Sex only means what you let it mean, and when it isn't with a boy it doesn't count at all."

"I don't think so."

I clenched my eyes shut, because that had come from Brittany.

Of course it had.

This was my life now, trying to sell what a non-issue lesbian sex was to the girl I wanted to be with. I knew it would come to this the moment this stupid conversation started. I was being backed against a wall, forced to choose between living a relatively smooth high school life and breaking Brittany's heart.

I wanted to run very, very badly, but I couldn't feel my legs.

"Oh?" Quinn said, as if Brittany having an opinion on the matter actually surprised her.

"I think it matters as much as anything else. It doesn't matter what gender anyone is," Brittany said.

Jennifer seemed to find that empowering, "Exactly, you can't just pretend it's nothing."

"So when I caught you in my guest room with Alice and Puck at my Cinco de Mayo party, what should I make of that?"

That made her blanch, "I- I wasn't sleeping with _her,_ though."

Quinn smiled her demon smile, "Prove it. A few weeks ago you were doing shots off her, so what am I supposed to think about that? Should I go off how it looks or what you say? You were naked in a room with another girl, so it looks like you're a dyke and a slut, but I don't call you out on that, because I assumed you knew the truth."

Those words drained Jennifer's confidence entirely. It did nothing to deter Brittany.

"Why do you keep saying that? It's not the truth," she said, I felt her eyes go to me for confirmation that I didn't have in me to give.

"Why do _you_ keep defending the issue?" Quinn asked, "Did someone rock your world and you want it to mean everything you dreamed it would?"

"No I- you're just saying things that aren't true. Maybe you and Santana didn't mean anything, but-"

I panicked. I admit it. I didn't know what the next words out of her mouth would be but I was afraid that they would be the truth about us. What I was going to say would break her heart and I knew it, but I had known since she first kissed me that it would come to this.

I was so angry at Quinn for orchestrating this moment my words had more bite than even my feigned irritation called for.

"Dammit, Brittany, sex isn't dating, that's what we're trying to say! Just drop it, please. I'm sick of talking about who might be gay because of what they do when drugged up or drunk!"

She jumped a bit at my outburst, and though my words were harsh my eyes were pleading for her to just let it be.

"But-"

"Let it go; Quinn's right, it doesn't mean anything, and if you think differently then that's on you."

I tried to apologize with my eyes, but I didn't think she saw it. I thought I would watch her heart break, but I didn't – I watched it shatter.

"Well, whatever," Quinn sighed as she grabbed her purse, "Ladies, it was a pleasure as always, but I have to be on my way."

I wanted to punch her so badly my fist was shaking. There was a loud ringing in my ears and everything in me wanted very much to kill her.

Luckily I was able to control myself and focus on damage control.

Once the others started to file out I turned to Brittany to ask her not to leave, but the moment I opened my mouth I knew it was useless.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, but she shook her head.

"I guess I'm not as good at reading people as I thought," she said with a shrug and left before I could say another word.

I stood to follow her and stopped, my eyes drawn to the Cheerios that were still around watching me from the corner of their eyes. I couldn't very well chase after her with them already so suspicious of our conversation. I wanted to, I even took several steps towards the door to force myself to, but I didn't, and not just because I was so worried about what my posse of nobodies might think. I didn't know what I would say.

What would make that better?

I still wasn't ready to come out, and I still didn't know where we stood, though I had a fair idea where she thought we did. I still hadn't figured out what I would want from myself, let alone her.

Instead I followed Quinn out to her car and I was more than ready to pretend today was Friday.

She stood around talking to a few Cheerios and I waited patiently for them finish their conversation and drive off before I marched up to Quinn and caught her putting her keys in the car door.

My training in channeling my anger meant that when I kicked her in the back of the knee it was hard enough to jam it into her door and dent it.

"What the fuck!" she shouted as she crumpled to the ground.

"Don't even act like you don't know," I seethed, not even sure if I wanted to follow up my kick with several more directly to her face.

"You're mad at _me_ for that?!" she snapped as she climbed clumsily to her feet, "_You_ are blaming _me_ for you telling Brittany to fuck off?!"

"I'm blaming you for putting me in that situation in the first place! You knew what would happen!"

"I suspected what might happen I didn't know you'd go all Simon Peter on her," she growled as she tested her weight on her injured knee.

"Stop trying to help me! Stop trying to be my mentor or friend or whatever the fuck you think you are to me! What gives you the right?!"

"And here I thought you learned from fight club. If you want to dump all your self-hate on me, that's the place to do it."

"This isn't self-hate! This is Quinn hate!"

"No!" she yelled back, "This is you blaming me because you're a coward! I didn't make you say one word to her! You fuck her then leave her to wonder if you even give a shit and the second you have a chance to tell her how you feel you tell her she doesn't matter!"

"Because that wasn't the place," I growled, unwilling to have a prolonged shouting match in the parking lot of Breadstix.

"Yeah? Where is the place? When is this magical time, because all I see is you avoiding her, and don't you dare suggest I have just set something up that was private because we both know you would have just avoided the hard questions."

"That's my choice, Quinn, it isn't your job to make me into some lesbian poster girl."

She sighed heavily, "Santana, I know you don't want to make the hard choices, and trust me I understand that, but what you do is cry about how hard it is and how you'd do anything for a way out then when I give you one, you flub it, blame me, and continue to cry. You can't have it both ways. I know you want me to stop, but I won't, because I expect more from you, you're better than this."

The fight drained out of me at her reprimand and the second it did she punched me right in the stomach so hard I lost my breath as I fell to the searing hot pavement.

"Grow the fuck up; it only gets harder from here. Maybe you should ask yourself if today was really about you, or if this was my way of showing Brittany that she's in love with someone who isn't worth her time."

I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes, and not just from the pain in my stomach, "I can't change overnight."

"I'm beginning to think you can't change ever."

That hurt more than the punch because that was something I was deeply afraid of.

"You don't know anything about Brittany," I whimpered, the pain from every angle making my voice weak, "And with all I know about her I don't think what she feels is love."

"I do."

I sat back on the ground not caring that the ground was burning my ass even through my Cheerios skirt.

"Why, because you fought her once and read it in her stance?" I snapped.

"No, I talked to her on the phone and she confessed that she was in love with you."

That got my attention. I stood despite the pain and tried to find a lie somewhere in her mad eyes, "She didn't say that."

"She did. And she meant it."

"Why would she tell you?"

"Because we speak to each other when you aren't around to chaperone, as much as I know that would drive you crazy and she told me because apparently she didn't know if she could tell you."

"Wh- she could have told me anytime. What did you say to her-" my question ended abruptly because she punched me in the stomach again, so hard I thought I might throw up my salad.

Once more I was on the ground, my arms and legs cooking on the skillet that passed for pavement while Quinn leaned over my prone form, "Santana. I'm done with you confronting me and blaming me for your shit. She didn't tell you because she worried that you might not want to be with her, imagine that, and if you weren't such a world class idiot you would have known that. When you show up on Friday please know why you're coming. It's not because you're mad at me, it's because you're mad at yourself for ruining every blessing that falls in your lap. You're mad because as much as you squawk that you're scared of the rest of the world not accepting you, what you're _really_ scared of is realizing that you won't accept yourself. You won't come out since that would mean you have to accept what a fag you are and you look up to your grandmother so much you aren't sure you can do it."

She stood and returned to opening her door while I stayed splayed out on the pavement, "That's not true," I coughed out.

Quinn yanked the door open and glared at me, "Maybe not. I could be completely wrong here, but we both know you are seriously fucked up to let Brittany leave like that." With a limp she maneuvered herself into her car and rolled down the window while she fired up the engine. "Don't worry, though," she called down to me as she slipped on those mirrored sunglasses that I was starting to hate, "I'll save you from yourself."

I didn't know what that meant and I didn't get a chance to ask as she peeled off onto the road leaving me discarded in the Breadstix parking lot.

* * *

It bothered me for the rest of the week that everything Quinn said might be true, that I may not have accepted my orientation as much as I claimed, but it was just another thing to worry about and I tried not to give it much thought.

I didn't give anything much thought because it would mean seeing the world come crashing down in Brittany's eyes or remembering every negative thing my grandmother had unknowingly said about me.

I still didn't call Brittany.

On Friday I didn't go to fight club for fear of seeing her and on Saturday I just turned my phone off.

Quinn had sunk my already feeble ship and I didn't know how to swim to shore. All I did know was that I had to figure a way to tell abuela about me, and soon. I didn't know how, but it had to happen. There was no way I could face Brittany until then, I couldn't even conceive what I would tell her if my whole family still thought I was straight. Somehow the idea of treating her like I did and then approaching her to tell her she could have the grand prize of being with me as long as she didn't tell anyone was a bit much.

But as I stated, I didn't really think about how I was going to do it. I just accepted that it was something that I would have to do eventually. It meant that two weeks passed where I didn't see Brittany, and without fight club it was difficult to deal with.

Quinn and I hadn't talked much since our confrontation and she didn't comment on me missing club meetings.

What did manage to take my mind off my endless moping was that more and more of the female students started to show up to class with pronounced limps or bruises that couldn't quite be covered by concealer. It could have been random hallway fights, but I highly suspected it was the ever expanding fight club.

It was worrying and yet I didn't talk to Quinn about it, I decided to continue to ignore her existence, and did so rather effectively until the opening night of the school play.

There were a billion reasons not to go, but I guess I wanted to see the blood hit the fan as it were. If I were going to be instrumental in tearing down a talented performer I could at least have the courtesy to watch it happen. Either that or it was a form of self-punishment, I wasn't sure.

I arrived late in the hopes of finding a seat with no nearby availability to be sure Quinn wouldn't have a chance to bother me. The perfect spot appeared on the aisle next to Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury. There were no seats to my right and teachers to my left. I was secure… or so I thought until Quinn and Rachel appeared.

With a nod of her head Quinn said, "Beat it," and two authority figures of the school stood straight up and left without a word of protest.

The power she was exerting over the entirety of the school was starting to truly scare me.

She sat right at my side and Rachel took the other available seat looking like a nerd at a math convention. The bucket had been up in the rafters so long it had to smell ten times worse than it had originally and she was clearly more than ready to see that ripe fruit fall.

"Where have you been?" Quinn asked quietly.

I looked at her questioningly, "Do you not recall leaving me laid out on the ground a few weeks back?"

"Oh, we're holding grudges for being hit? Because my knee is still fucked up, we might lose nationals thanks to that stunt."

"You earned it, like every other hit you've ever gotten."

She shook her head slowly as she looked at me, "Get over yourself please. Where have you been?"

"At home minding my own business!" I growled fiercely earning the temporary attention of a few nearby classmates.

"You know you're only making things worse by avoiding her."

"She tell you that over the phone?" I asked with the maximum amount of snark.

"In person actually."

That made my stomach twist, and I sighed because I was so sick of feeling like the shit stuck to a mass murder's shoe.

"Let me deal with my problems, please."

"Fine, then deal with them, but I won't accept you running away. Not now, not when you've come so far."

"So far in what?" I hissed at her.

"Fight club."

"Son of a-" I started, then reigned in my temper, "You think I still care about your club? You have the whole school under your heel, Quinn, you don't need me."

"I do. I need you to come back. Our group, our original group is meeting for fights in the gym now. I was able to get us a copy of the keys so we can get in after dark. You should come. And don't worry about talking to Brittany, just come."

"What if I'm done, Quinn?" I asked and for the first time I turned to look at her.

I was startled to see she looked bone weary, almost sickly, "You aren't done until I say you're done."

She hadn't said it in a menacing manner, but I knew better than to take it as anything else.

"I've done everything I can to trust you, and failing that I followed you blindly, but now, since I find myself even worse off than before, I think I'm done."

Her jaw tightened, "Worse off? How can you- no, I'm not getting into this with you right now. Next meeting you show up or we have it in your back yard. Clear?"

I slouched in my seat and resisted the temptation to hit her again, "Clear," I spat out.

We didn't speak to each other again, and eventually the stage lights lowered and the play began.

For the first twenty minutes it was quite good. Mercedes was on point – even her dancing was fluid, though she had always struggled with choreography while on the squad. I watched in awe and actually forgot what was going to happen, until she opened her mouth to belt out the final notes of _One Hand, One Heart_ and got a mouthful of rancid smelling fake blood.

It hit her dead on, covering her whole body.

At first everything fell quiet and then chaos. Mercedes threw up and immediately the student body erupted into a mixture of laughter and horrified screams. The front row scrambled to escape the smell as did the rest of the cast. She was left alone, drenched in sick and blood looking like she wasn't even sure what had happened.

But then it dawned on her and she took off running.

I looked to Rachel and Quinn to see if at least they were satisfied with how everything went. Neither responded how I expected. Rachel sat blankly, a weird grimace on her face and Quinn looked pensive, almost angry, with her thumb in her mouth chewing at her nail.

I was about to say something when Quinn leapt up and over me, flying out the auditorium doors before I could get a syllable out.

Instead I turned to Rachel, "Was it everything you dreamed?"

She didn't speak either, instead she stood and left, and there I sat, apparently the only person not in some manner of internal conflict over what had just happened, and that was a first.

The play was called to an abrupt end and I was amongst the last to leave. I sort of hung around staring at the grisly scene before me, transfixed. I concluded that this effectively meant that I was in a gang since this was some next level _Godfather_ shit. The smell of it wafted off the stage, but I just sat there and breathed it in trying to work out what was going on with my life.

I was a thug on the way to redemption, a lesbian on the way to being out, a teenage girl on her way to being a woman and I had no idea how far I was from any of those goals. Fight club was made to manage the anger and confusion, but everything was such a mess it was hard to feel anything anymore. I knew I was in it too deep.

I needed control. Real control of my life, but I had given the wheel to Quinn and she seemed to be on a collision course with death or jail.

I needed to change.

Then I remembered my cowardice was why I was in this position in the first place. My life was out of control, because I was too scared to steer it myself. She was the boss of me because I let her be, I always had.

Quinn was nutty as squirrel shit but at least she tried. I was too afraid to try.

When I left the school and began a slow walk home I also had the realization that in my fear of trying I had failed miserably at everything. The only thing I was good at was pretending not to be me, which was a useful skill, but also a counterproductive one.

My walk home got wonky and I ended up outside the Pierce residence looking up at their daughter's bedroom wishing I had it in me to call her and tell her to meet me where I would tell her everything I should have weeks ago.

I knew I was being stupid, I knew the longer I waited the more likely I was to lose her forever. I knew it and yet I only stared at her window for a while before walking home.

Everything in me was tired, sick, and hurting. I wondered if that was what had Quinn looking so pale. Had life finally beaten her down? Was she as close to the end of her rope as I was?

I hoped so, if only to think I wasn't the only being in Ohio who was going through this. I had made my own hell and was too scared to step out of it.

Abuela and I ate dinner together and we talked and laughed about all kinds of things that didn't matter. I hadn't lost my resolve to tell her the truth, but I hadn't gained enough courage to just do it. Instead I just tried to ready myself for how much I would miss her if she took the news as poorly as I imagined she would.

Before bed I sat, hovering over my phone, wanting to call Brittany, needing to hear her voice because I missed her so very much. I wrote entire poems of apology in my head and went through all the ways I could ask her to forgive me and find it in her to wait for me to get myself together.

In the end I wrote her a text I didn't even send.

It said: I'm so very sorry.

I hadn't cried myself to sleep in a long time, but if ever I needed to it was that night.

* * *

In the morning my eyes were puffy and my head was throbbing, but I got up and put on my costume before going to school.

Quinn picked me up looking even more ill than she had the night before and I didn't dare ask why. Instead we talked about potential candidates and she informed me of several more branches of our club that had popped up that had nothing to do with her.

While she went over her plans to keep them under control I just sat there, my head against the window, my brain working overtime, going over and over the things it had already gone over and over. Her words were a mere buzzing in the background, and I'm sure she knew that, but for once she didn't call me out on it. As a matter of fact, when she stopped the car and turned to me, I fully expected to hear how irritated she was, but instead she just smiled at me before stroking my hair with the oddest look in her eyes.

"Don't worry. This'll be over soon. You won't have to worry so much for long, I promise."

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Fight club is a means to an end and we're almost at the end."

That was the first I'd heard of that, but Quinn was out of the car before I could question her further. Eager to have that statement clarified, I grabbed my bookbag and scrambled after her.

"What end?"

She gave a half smile as she continued to walk without looking at me, "Fight club is self-sustaining at this point, but it's mostly a failure."

I looked at her like she was insane and briefly wondered if she was high, "How? Everyone's doing what you want."

"No, they aren't," she paused and rubbed her eyes. They were baggy and looked positively exhausted, "It's a failure so far in carrying out its intended purpose, but I still have my backup plan."

"What's that?"

"You."

I tightened my grip on the strap over my shoulder, "You keep saying I'm supposed to be a savior or something, but I don't know what the fuck you're talking about and I'm sure I don't want to. You keep talking in riddles and I'm never sure if you're serious, kidding or drugged. Just tell me what you want from fight club, what you want from me, and maybe I can help."

She only smiled wider, "What would be the fun in telling?"

"What's the point in not?"

"You know I love mystery."

She chuckled and I grimaced, that whole conversation had been plain ominous and I highly suspected that she was going to kill me in some weird ritual that she would later describe to the police as 'enlightening'. Since it was Friday if she meant to end things that could well mean today.

The weird thing was, as strongly as I believed that, I didn't feel the need to run. I was at that point where if all this just stopped I'd be okay with it. I knew Quinn was in that same place and maybe that was the point of fight club, to make everyone so complacent they wouldn't care when they were brought to the altar of her dark gods for sacrifice. If that was the case it seemed fitting that I was first on her list.

We went to our classes as usual, but something was off, there was a weird energy in the air, a restlessness. The students whispered amongst themselves and I ignored it as was my nature when dealing with things that didn't directly concern me, though I had to assume it was about the macabre scene that had happened the night before. How could that not be the topic of discussion?

I went through most of the day thinking that, then I dared to actually listen in while a couple of my classmates were talking.

They were gossiping about the play, but that wasn't all. They were also discussing how Mercedes was now in the hospital from a suicide attempt in the night.

That woke me up. Immediately.

I sat up in my chair unable to think clearly for panic. I'd never suspected Mercedes to be one so easily pushed to such measured, but since I didn't know anything about her, that had been a stupid assumption.

We had gone too far. No one deserved to be bullied to death, not Mercedes, not even the likes of Karofsky. If Quinn couldn't judge people's limits better, then our little after school assignments had to come to an end.

I planned to tell her as much, but she didn't show her face in any of the classes we shared. I snuck off in the hopes of finding her in the parking lot, but she wasn't there either.

The only place I knew I could find her was fight club.

That was where Brittany would be as well, and I did want very much to keep avoiding her, but this was more important. So I waited until seven and holed up in the gym while our other members filtered in. I was surprised to see Rachel as one of the first to arrive, pacing rapidly across the floor her brow furrowed. Apparently she had a bone to pick with Quinn as much as I did and didn't want to wait until her side group was finished to deal with it.

Tina and Lauren arrived, followed shortly by Brittany of course, and every feeling I had about her and what had happened between us hit me at once.

I thought I had missed her, but seeing her in front of me only made that feeling explode into something else entirely. I stood and approached her wishing for the right words to come to me, but once I was standing in front of her there was still nothing rattling around in my head. I started talking anyway, hoping something might come to mind before I finished the sentence.

"Um, listen, Britt-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, "I understand now, I made a mistake, and it won't happen again. I just still want to be your friend. Alright?"

I looked at her in shock, "Wait, you didn't-"

A loud bang cut me off as Quinn shoved the doors wide open walking in with a wide grin and her aviators on, "Ladies!" she announced as she walked to our group, "Tonight is a fine night to fight, so let's not waste time."

"Did you know about Mercedes?" Rachel asked immediately, which was good because between that grand entrance and Brittany I'd gotten distracted.

"That she downed a bottle of pain pills? No, I know nothing about it," she laughed.

"This isn't funny!" Rachel roared, "She would have died if her mother hadn't found her in time! This was wrong! We were wrong! We're spending our time terrorizing the school for personal gain! That's what this has become!"

Quinn didn't even seem perturbed, "You only say that because she got all dramatic and tried to end it all, but if she hadn't you would have been fine in taking her role or any subsequent one. You all want to get everything while sacrificing nothing, not even others, and it doesn't work that way. What we did was merely a physical representation of the kind of backlash she will receive from the public on her long, hard road to being an adult. If she can't handle that, then those pills were going to slide down her fat gullet one way or the other."

"You couldn't be more wrong!" Rachel snapped back, "I just wanted to scare her off the stage, you wanted to break her and I was stupid enough to go along with it!"

With the sunglasses I couldn't tell Quinn's exact disposition, but from the downturned angle of her mouth I was willing to guess 'unhappy' was a safe bet.

"Why is everyone always mad at me for the shit they do?"

"You know what? I'm not even really mad at you. I knew what kind of person you were when I signed up. I followed your insane theories because I thought maybe you were on to something, but you aren't. You're another fucked up rich kid with no idea how to make anything better."

_That_ seemed to piss her off more than anything else ever had. I knew if I could see her eyes, I'd see her demon breathing fire in its rage.

"Don't act like I didn't help you! All of a sudden something isn't going your way and you want to call me out! You took charge of the new kids and, admit it, you love it! You want recognition, you want to be noticed and you don't want to be trampled on. If you want those things sometimes you are going to have to hurt someone's feelings to get it!"

"She tried to kill herself, Quinn! And if you don't see how that's too far then you're even more screwed in the head than I thought!"

With a belabored sigh Quinn rubbed her eyes under her glasses, "Would it help you if I told you she didn't do it because of the play?"

"Even if that was true, you can't argue that it had a lot to do with it."

For a while Quinn and Rachel just stared at each other with the rest of us just watching in silence.

Finally Rachel shook her head and started towards the door, "I'm out. I came to relieve stress, but all I have is more, I need to face the fact that my dad's dying, because soon he'll be gone and I will have spent my last moments here, bullying my classmates and running from reality by fighting."

"You can't leave," Quinn snapped and the warning in her voice was dire.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Because I believe you would; I think you've become that empty. You walk in here like Mercedes' life doesn't matter and I can only guess it's because you've come to believe yours doesn't," she shrugged, "I don't know. Whatever's going on with you isn't my problem and I won't let it be any longer."

She turned to leave again, but Quinn caught her by the back of the shirt and pulled her back until they were facing each other, "You don't want to do this."

Rachel snatched her shirt from her grip, "I really do. I'm not your puppet, this isn't the Cheerios and I am leaving."

Quinn's jaw jumped as she ground her teeth and I could almost feel the anger seething from her, "You coward!" she shouted out after her as the door closed.

I didn't agree.

I thought she was the bravest of all of us.

I didn't know the true purpose of fight club, but maybe the only way to know it helped was to not need it anymore.

That was something I wished for myself.

After that engagement Quinn called an early dismissal, she pulled me to the side to inform me that Rachel would be receiving a special severance package and I only nodded distractedly. I wanted to walk Brittany home and possibly tell her some of the things I'd been trying to say for so long.

But after Quinn let me go I saw that she'd already left.

I didn't try to catch up, but only after swearing to myself that before the month was out I would get myself together and actually have something to say.

She wasn't going to be my secret anymore, and I wasn't going to let fight club distract me from succeeding.

I never thought the day would come when I wanted to be like Rachel, but I did. To stand up to the crap that was being thrown and face the unpleasant things. My running was just making me more and more into the person I didn't want to be.

I wanted to be like Rachel Berry.

I wanted to graduate from fight club.

* * *

A/N: This was done on the 5th but I had to wait to get it checked, sorry. If it takes too long next time I'll do my best the self edit and update the changes afterwards.

Next chapter is the last unless I decided to split it in two for whatever reason.

Reviews are always welcome.


	12. Not According to Plan

I placed my hands carefully in my lap and cleared my mind with a deep, bracing breath. "Abulea, first I want to ask that you let me talk without interruption," I didn't pause to allow for her to agree, because there was no version of this scenario that would work with her cutting in. "You know I love you very much and over the past few months I think we've grown even closer than we were before. However, I think there are a few things keeping us apart and up until this point it's all been my fault, because I haven't been honest. And I haven't been honest, because I was… am scared of what telling the truth would mean, but here it is: I'm gay. I have known that for over a year and I've spent most of my time denying, accepting, then hiding that fact. Now I know how you feel about lesbians and I understand that this isn't something you can just accept right away, but please understand that this doesn't change anything about the me you know. I still love and respect you and I hope that you will be able to continue to do the same to me."

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and frowned at how nervous I looked even though I was only talking to myself.

With a sigh I let my head flop onto my dresser, because that was the best speech I could come up with and it wasn't very good at all. No matter how I practiced all I could imagine after that was her clamming up on me, but knowing my abuela like I did I knew breaking it to her gently would be better than just blurting it out and hoping she took it well.

It wasn't long ago that it would have been an absurd notion to picture myself sitting in front of my dresser mirror on a Sunday practicing how to come out to my grandmother. Yet that was my reality, even though thinking about doing it for real made my stomach lurch.

But then I remembered Brittany's text from Saturday where she told me we couldn't meet because she was going to the movies with Artie. That had been the kick I needed to quit stalling and spend a few hours thinking up something to say, so I spent the day in my room telling myself I was gay and by now even I was tired of hearing me say it.

At this point it was almost ten and I still hadn't done anything, so I decided to be an adult for once and go ahead and get the whole thing over with.

I was going to tell my abuela.

The queasy feeling went to full blown nausea, but I was determined. I stood and marched down the stairs quietly, murmuring the better parts of my confession under my breath as I went.

My heart was beating wildly and I hadn't even found abuela yet.

A small voice pleaded for me to wait, making very compelling arguments for how now wasn't really a good time. For the first time in my life I ignored it and went straight into the living room fully intending to let go of the truth I'd spent the better part of the school year burying.

"Abuela, I need to talk to you about something," I said, before I'd even made it fully into the room.

Which led me to stumble onto an unforeseeable complication.

"Of course, Santana," abuela replied with a smile, but there were two other smiling faces across from hers.

My parents had a magical knack for bad timing.

"Speak of the devil, we were just talking about you," my dad laughed.

I just stood there, struggling to figure out what to do next.

Naturally I fell into old habits, "So you were all talking about me, but no one bothered to call me?"

My mother was the first to reply, "Your abuela was just telling us how well behaved you were, but I guess that's a courtesy only she gets."

I didn't want to get into it with them, so I readjusted my tactic, "I thought you guys were going to be gone for a few more months."

"We'll be leaving again in a couple of days, I just needed to come back to attend a conference I promised a friend I would do," dad answered simply.

"Then why'd you both come?"

"Because we both wanted to see you," my mom snapped, "but clearly that isn't appreciated."

"Santana," abuela warned, and I ground my jaw shut and sat down on the couch.

"Sorry," I growled.

No one seemed particularly pleased with my apology, but the issue wasn't pressed.

In what I was sure was an effort to defuse the situation abuela asked, "What did you need to tell me?"

My mouth went dry and I looked at the three people in the room. There was no way I could say anything in front of my parents. And this time it wasn't cowardice speaking; I genuinely didn't want them involved. The approach needed for my abuela and my parents directly conflicted. If they agreed with abuela's views, that would be too much from all sides, and if they didn't, there would be yelling and that wouldn't help anything. I needed to tackle them one at a time, abuela first, but not here.

"Uh, it can wait."

"Until we're gone?" my mom asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Maribel," abuela sighed, "maybe she would have an easier time talking to you if you didn't argue with her like a child whenever you're home. You are her mother, not her school mate."

"Don't tell me how to talk to my daughter!" she snapped back and then my father was in it.

"Calm down, she didn't mean anything by it," he said in the irritatingly diplomatic tone he used for family fights.

Abuela shrugged, "I did. I meant she's acting like a bi-"

"Mom!"

"This is why she treats me like a stranger when I come home! You aren't her mother!"

"No, she treats you like a stranger, because there are actual strangers she spends more time with than you."

And on it went, doing nothing but confirming that now wasn't the time.

Depressed, I went back upstairs with the raging argument as a backdrop. Even after my door was closed behind me I could still hear my mother accusing abuela of turning me against her, while seemingly forgetting I had always been against her, and my father jumped back and forth between trying to defend his mother and his wife from one another.

Instead of listening I picked up my phone and sent a text to Brittany: **What did you see?**

There was a long pause before she sent back: **Can't remember, was kinda distracted**

**By what?** I sent back right away, my brain instantly filling with thoughts of Artie's hands on her thigh, but then she replied: **Was thinking about other stuff**

I swallowed hard before I dared to text; **What kind of stuff?**

To which she replied: **Nothing important**, which was Brittany for 'I don't want to talk about it.'

That made me crazy bold and I typed out: **I miss you a lot**

She didn't reply to that.

I could totally understand, but it still made me curl into a ball on my bed and wish all over again that I had done everything differently. There were no more tears in me to shed over the issue – it was time to stop crying and act. That's what I told myself as tears fought to fall anyway, but I managed to put a swift stop to that. Below the argument raged on, but it had degraded into Spanish being spoken so quickly with so much slang I couldn't have made out what was being said even if I cared to really listen in.

I kept checking my phone periodically.

There was no message on it and there wasn't for the rest of the night.

I still sent another text that said: **Goodnight**

The melody of the fight lulled me to sleep where I dreamed of telling my parents about me only to have abuela overhear and the entire thing became one giant family fight.

When I woke I wasn't surprised to recall my dream had gone that way.

I _was_ surprised to see I had a return text that simply said: **Good morning :)**

I sent a morning greeting of my own, debating for twenty minutes whether or not to add a 'beautiful' at the end but opted not to. I hadn't exactly earned the right to flirt if I was still the same girl that dissed her so hard at Breadstix.

With a skip in my step I dressed and went downstairs to receive breakfast. However, instead of the usual I found my mother cooking eggs and toast while abuela watched her do so with a disapproving stare. I greeted them briefly and piled a few spoonfuls of the overcooked eggs onto a piece of toast and turned to head out the door.

I tried to exit quickly and quietly, but I was stopped by the sound of clattering pans as my mother tried to catch up with me.

"Whoa, where are you off to?" she asked.

"Well, given that it's Monday I'd say I'm going to school." The snark was reflexive, but I didn't exactly feel bad about it since she had come home and ruined my entire week.

"This early?"

"Given the Cheerios' uniform you can safely assume I'm going to cheer practice."

"Oh, right, how is that going?"

I just frowned at her, because this was the longest conversation we'd ever had that wasn't about my bad behavior, "Pretty good. We qualified for nationals."

"That's great! I knew you would."

One of my eyes narrowed. She hadn't even remembered I was on the team until five seconds ago, though even I could detect an attempt to connect when I saw it, so I didn't dig in about it.

"Right, well, I'm off," I said, hoping she'd get the hint.

"Hold on there; if you wait a moment, I could drive you," she said with a hopeful smile.

"Um, Quinn usually drives me to school. She's probably waiting right now," I said as I opened the door only to find no one was out there.

Today she does this to me. _Today_.

I looked out at the empty driveway and cleared my throat, "I can walk," I said before grabbing my bookbag from by the door and heading outside.

It was possible Quinn was just running a little late, but I didn't care. I needed to escape the house immediately.

She seemed to sense that too, "Things didn't go so well before and I really want this visit to be pleasant, so can we start over?"

I closed my eyes and wished that they had decided to invade my life on any week but this one, but since this was my here and now I went ahead and subjugated myself to it. This was going to happen one way or the other and it would be easiest just to get it over with without arguing the entire time.

"Sure," I grumbled.

I was a little worried about my mother taking the keys to the Thunderbird since that usually started my dad on a three year rant about how it should never be touched, but he didn't see and I couldn't fathom how he could be mad after he left it in my hands. For a moment, when I crawled into the passenger seat, I considered calling Quinn to tell her I had a ride, but a brief moment of malice kept me from doing it.

There was a heavy silence as we pulled out of the driveway, and I was content to leave it that way. Yet, like with Rachel, the silence couldn't last too long.

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about what happened last night."

"It's fine," I sighed.

"It isn't… I am jealous of Alma and you. You seem to care for her more than you ever have for me even though you two haven't spent a lot of time together and it makes me feel-"

"Like a bad mom because you leave me alone constantly?" I inquired absently as I stared at the dashboard, refusing to look at her.

She was quiet and I wondered if I had managed to shut her up in under five sentences, but then she said, "Yes."

"Good, because you _are_ a bad mom."

A heavy sigh escaped her and I thought surely this time she'd stop trying to make small talk. Instead she pressed on, "Whatever it is you think of me, I do love you and every day I'm gone I miss you."

"Is that why you call constantly?" I didn't know why I refused to let her off the hook or play like it was all okay. It was probably because I was exhausted of pretending.

"When we leave, your father and I are busy. There isn't a moment where we aren't on a conference call or at a seminar or teaching one or operating. We hardly even see each other. If I'm lucky, I might get back to the hotel in time to see Alberto dead asleep before I pass out for the night and if the planets align just right, I'll _maybe_ get to see him in the morning for a quick breakfast while we run out the door. It isn't like we go on extended vacations to just sit around and drink martinis."

"Why, though? What, are we strapped for cash or something? Is the world short of doctors all of a sudden?"

She considered me before she spoke, "It is short of world class doctors who don't charge world class prices to help those in need or train new doctors in underprivileged parts of the world. Not so short that we couldn't leave the work to someone else, but honestly, with you yelling at us every time we set foot in the house we thought it would be better if we kept working."

"So this is my fault?!"

She winced, "I didn't mean for that to come out that way. No, Santana, you aren't at fault for this. It's just, well, you have to admit you aren't exactly easy to come home to. And rather than come home and fight I thought we would have a better relationship if we spent more time apart. A bad decision, I know, but parenting is harder than you think."

"Lesson one: Don't abandon your kid."

"Yeah, I figured that one out recently," she chuckled.

"Did you? Because you're leaving again in a few days."

"We are, but when we come back we'll be home for some time. At the very least until after you graduate high school."

That surprised me. I honestly never thought I'd hear those words. I refused to let myself feel happy about it, however.

"So you think spending more time here will make me like you more?"

"I think it's the only way I can hope to try to change your mind."

I looked away from her and considered saying what I had backed out of telling abuela. There was the chance that it would be okay with her, and that she could help me think of a way to tell the rest of the family.

But there was the chance she wouldn't, and more importantly she was still leaving in a short time, meaning she could just make things worse then dip.

I decided to stick to the script. Abuela first, then the two people who masqueraded as caring parents.

She changed the subject back to cheerleading and I let her, because all personal topics were off limits.

* * *

The first person I ran into at school was Quinn.

I had to assume she had been up since the crack of dawn, because that was the only way to explain the bags under her eyes. When she saw me she smiled a bemused smile and walked over to my locker where I was trying to fish out my math book.

"Would you believe, Berry's not here today."

I totally believed it, "Well, you practically threatened to kill her, so…"

"I didn't think she'd back down like that, though," she said, as if it was truly amazing.

"She can't miss school forever – she'll explode or something – so you'll have your moment."

"Rachel's going to be gone a while," Quinn said, and it was odd how she didn't look at me as she spoke; she just stared off blankly into the hall. "She's taken a leave of absence to be with her dying dad. It's all official, so there's not much I can do about it."

"I'm surprised you aren't blackmailing the principal into making her come back."

Quinn shook her head, "No point. By the time I arranged that it would be too late."

I stopped digging through my locker and frowned at her, "Too late for what."

She shook her head, "Doesn't matter."

I stared at her for a long time before I gently took her arm earning me her full attention and for the first time I recognized the desperation that Brittany had seen so easily.

"Will you ever be at a point where you'll talk to me? You don't have to tell me everything, but I mean it's obvious something's really wrong with you, Q."

I didn't expect her to smile at me.

It wasn't her evil smile, or the malicious plotting one she sported from time to time. It was genuine and soft.

"I know I shoot you down every time you ask, but it was always the plan to eventually tell you should I make it that far."

"You aren't making sense again, Quinn," I sighed, wishing I could understand her mad ramblings at least once.

Brittany would probably know what to make of it…

Suddenly I had a longing for her that actually hurt.

"When the time comes, if you are still willing to listen, I will talk," she said with a sigh and walked off.

I didn't see her for the rest of the day.

I spent most of that night worrying that I was going to wake to find she'd killed herself or someone else, but my unease was interrupted by my parents taking turns in trying to bond with me.

My dad tried talking to me about a future in medicine – that didn't last long. Then, an hour later, my mom was in my room trying to discuss my love life. That conversation was even shorter. I knew I hurt her feelings, because she had introduced the topic by asking about 'Bret'; I was sure she was wounded I had shared with abuela and not her, but little did she know no one had the full story.

I ate dinner and navigated the minefield that was polite conversation in the ever volatile Lopez household. After all was said and done I went to bed worrying about Quinn far more than I felt I had to, because I still hadn't told abuela the truth.

In order to be able to sleep I swore I would tell her the next day, come hell or high water, no matter what. Even if I had to announce it to the whole school. I couldn't keep lying and excusing the lies.

It was the first good night's sleep I'd had in a while.

* * *

Quinn picked me up the next day, much to my mother's chagrin. It also upset her that I hugged abuela extra long before I left. It was mainly because I was sure it was the last goodbye hug I'd ever get from her, but I'd already promised myself I was going to tell and even the fear of losing the warmth of her love wasn't going to hold me back anymore.

As my parents waved me off Quinn slid on her sunglasses and grinned at me, "What's all that about?"

"My parents are home and trying to bond," I explained as I took some makeup out of my bookbag since I hadn't had time that morning due to my sticking to abuela like I would never see her again.

It really felt that way.

Like she was going to die.

Or I was.

"How long are they in town?"

"Not long."

"Hmmm," she said, and if I could have seen her eyes I would have known whether that was an acknowledgement 'hmmm' or a plotting 'hmmm'.

"What?"

"Nothing. So you still haven't talked with Brittany – what's up with that?"

The name made my heart twist, "Does… is she still even interested in me?" I asked.

"Oh, don't even, Santana. If you want to know what she's feeling, then you'll have to figure that shit out in person. I'm not going to enable your self-sabotage."

"Whatever."

She turned to me with a smile and it was the most vibrant I had seen her look in a long time, "Don't be shitty. Today is going to be a wonderful day."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she probably had some sort of insane plan that had to do with fight club.

But when we arrived at school nothing happened. As a matter of fact the day couldn't have been more normal except for how unusually peppy Quinn was. Her joy somehow rubbed off on me; I suppose it was the disbelieving euphoria that came with knowing I was about to crush my whole world when I got home, with the truth of all things.

I even ate lunch with Tina and Lauren. Although they expressed worry over Quinn's behavior I brushed it off, because things apparently were finally getting better for her, and regardless of the outcome things were going to be better for me too.

They had to.

When it was time for cheer practice I was more than a little surprised to find Quinn had skipped out on it. Since she'd been in such high spirits I figured cheering was the first place she'd want to be. In her absence I took over and led the team to perform our routine flawlessly for the first time, even with a sub at the bottom of the pyramid.

My minions congratulated me on the execution of my flips and Sue clapped me on the back demi-joking about how she should have made me captain instead of Quinn.

I left the field feeling as good as I possibly could. Sure, later everything was going to be different, but my day had been pretty close to perfect. It was like a final meal, or putting my affairs in order before moving on. I was still scared, so much so I was shaking and I was still at school, but I felt good.

On cheer nights I usually caught a ride home with Quinn, but with her gone I had a bit of a walk ahead of me, so I decided to use the time to figure out how to make sure I was able to talk to abuela alone or at least what I would say to her if I wasn't able to. However, I hardly made it halfway down the field before I heard Sylvester call my name.

I turned, thinking coach had a lecture of some sort she'd forgotten to give me, but when I turned, I saw her pointing to the bleachers where my parents sat waving to me. I waved back tentatively feeling confused and walked over to them to find myself surprisingly in my father's arms the moment I stepped to where they were sitting. He gave me a tight hug and set me down quickly, his eyes looking at me with pride. I'd never been so weirded out.

"What's up?" I asked, backing away in case my mother wanted to do the same.

"We wanted to see your routine," my mother answered nodding to where all the other Cheerios were filtering back into the school.

"Oh, well, that was it."

"I didn't know you were at the top of the pyramid," my dad said looking awkward, like he didn't know what to do with himself after that random hug.

"I'm usually not. Quinn is, but she wasn't here today."

They looked at each other and then at me as if they had exchanged a silent code.

"You ready to go?" mom asked, and I nodded pulling my bag further up on my shoulder.

The ride home was nothing but chatter about my cheer routine, probably because they hadn't shared in my school accomplishments since I was ten and even then it was with mild interest. I entertained their need for conversation and told them all about my coach, her regime and some of the killer moves she was already making us practice for next year's tournaments.

I talked and talked until I realized we weren't on our way home at all…

"Where are we going?" I asked randomly as we pulled onto a side road that was all too familiar.

"This little joint we found out about a little while ago. I heard it has good food," my dad said, making me feel that familiar twist in my chest because we were headed to the Burger Shack.

Brittany worked Monday evenings.

I couldn't possibly take this.

"I'm full, so let's not," I said quickly.

"Don't be that way. I know you're hungry after that workout-"

"Can we please not go to the Burger Shack?! I hate the food!" I protested in total panic.

Unfortunately they seemed unconcerned with my tantrum, "Listen, your father and I want to talk to you so if you don't want to eat, that's fine, but we really don't want this to wait."

I was going to protest and insist we talk at home, but that was where abuela and the end of my current life waited. In which case a trip to the Burger Shack wasn't so bad, but I had to promise if Brittany saw me I wouldn't hurt her. If somehow I got boxed into talking about her, I wouldn't do what I'd done at Breadstix ever again.

To my great fortune she wasn't there that night.

The same bucktoothed waitress that had been there the first time Brittany had asked me out seated us. A faint smile spread over my face as I realized that she had actually been asking me out, on the very _date_ date that I was sure it wasn't.

I owed her the biggest apology in human history.

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress chirped.

It amused me to see my father had the same impression of her that I did when she first tried to take my order, "Not right now," he said while fighting a sneer.

She bounced off and I continued to try not to laugh until I remembered I was here for a family talk.

"So what is it we need to talk about?" I asked immediately, wanting the conversation over as soon as possible.

My parents looked at each other again and then to me, apparently the decision they reached was that my father should do the talking.

"Your mother told you how we planned to spend more time at home after this last trip?"

"Yeah," I replied swiftly, praying this wasn't about to break into some new forming of house rules.

"We are hoping to improve our relationship as a family. Your mother and I don't see each other, or you, as much as we'd like."

"She told me, I know."

I had no patience for this, and the happy buzz I'd had was fading with each word he spoke.

"Listen, I know we've been apart for too long, but I never thought it was to the point where you didn't think you could come to us anymore."

This time I was less angry and more confused, "What do you mean?"

"When did you stop thinking you could confide in us?"

"About the time you left me at home and stopped calling which was the first time you ever left," I snapped, unable to control my temper, "What is this even about?"

My mother reached across the table and took my hand, which had been rapidly shredding a napkin, "Santana, we know you're gay."

Everything went quiet and suddenly there was only the ringing in my ears, "How…"

"Your friend Quinn told us."

I felt my eye twitch and a deep hot, boiling rage began to well inside me, "She what?"

My dad cleared his throat, "She came to us today and explained all the trouble you'd been having dealing with it and how afraid you were for anyone to know, even us. And we wanted to be sure you knew we knew and it is perfectly okay."

"She came to the house?" I repeated, my mind only racing furiously down one track, "Was abuela there?"

At the question they gave each other another silent look and I had my answer. I couldn't tell if what was swirling inside me was rage or vomit.

"What did she say?" I asked quietly, already afraid of the answer.

"Santana," my mother started, "Alma is from a different generation and-"

That was all I needed to hear.

My father had set the car keys down on the table, and I felt no qualms about snatching them and running to the car faster than they could react. In less than a minute I was leaving him to eat the dust kicked up by his own car as I sped home. I raced through the streets like a bat out of hell desperate to try and fix what Quinn had broken, if that was even possible anymore.

When I finally made it to the house I dashed out of the car, but stopped short of the door, scared to turn the knob because the end I had always feared was waiting on the other side. I waited, then finally I pushed the door open to find the house quiet and dark. At first I thought she might not be home, but then I heard the sound of dishes clanking in the kitchen and I dared to approach, my heart beating so fast I honestly worried it might burst.

The kitchen was as it always had been: neat, bright and organized. But somehow, now, it seemed more dour. Abuela stood in front of the sink looking like she always did, but I knew everything was different, if I called her, the same woman I had hugged when I left wouldn't be there.

I opened my mouth to say something, though all that came out was a squeak, but it was enough to get her to turn around. And when her eyes found mine I knew everything I'd ever feared had come true.

There was no love there, only anger and disgust.

"Abuela," I said finally, my nervousness making my voice small, "I- um," I hadn't planned for this, my speech didn't account for Quinn. All I could do was say what I'd planned even though it all felt too little too late, "You know that I've always loved and respected you-"

"Is it true? What the Quinn girl said?" she asked, and her voice was hard and cold as ice.

"What did she say?" I asked. I was avoiding the question, though it _was_ prudent to find out what it was she had actually accused me of before admitting to it.

"She said that for the past year you have been hiding that you sleep with girls," she spat. "And I would never have believed her until she showed us that you keep a… _pinga_ to help with your unnatural habit."

I frowned at the word, "What? No, I don't have a-"

"Oh, so are you trying to tell me what was in that brown box in your room was a horn for when you and your putas play unicorns?"

The brown box.

I had forgotten about Quinn's dildo so completely even now I was stunned. I had hid it under my bed where I put all things I don't want found, Quinn would have known where to look for it, but I was so shocked she'd dared to show it off.

"It wasn't mine!" I protested, wishing that I could be in anyone else's life.

"I guessed that when she took it home with her," she snapped.

"I wanted to tell you!" I was shouting out of fear and anxiety. I needed to get a grip on myself, but I couldn't, this was going worse than I could have ever imagined, "I wanted so much to tell you, but every time I tried you just made me feel like I'd lose you if I did!"

"This is the kind of thing you keep to yourself Santana!" she shouted back, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. "I don't want to know this about my granddaughter! It makes me sick!"

"You said you'd always love me! You said we were family, didn't you?! Well, nothing's changed! I'm the same as when you got here!"

She scoffed, "Of course you are my family, Santana. There is nothing I can do to change that, but it doesn't mean I have to accept what you do."

"So it would be better if I were addicted to drugs?" I asked recalling our earlier conversation, my voice was trembling and I knew I was crying, but I couldn't feel anything other than my erratic heartbeat and the growing migraine at the back of my head.

"At least then your parents would agree that you need help! But no one will help the sick boys and girls who run around pretending what they do is natural!"

I felt defeated and weak and that weakness made me take a step back, "Then can you forget? Can we just not talk about it?"

"Forget? So you can lie to me some more about _Bret_? Am I supposed to forget when you go out to a _friend's_ house to do who knows what?"

"Yes," I sobbed, too tired to yell anymore, "It didn't matter before."

She sighed, "I can't do this. I cannot deal with your lies or your truths."

I didn't know what that meant and I dreaded asking, "What do you-"

"I'm done talking about this," she said and marched straight to her room, slamming the door.

I ran after her and tried to go in, needing to confront her, needing something more final no matter how much it hurt, but the door was locked.

Fight club had made me a glutton for punishment, so I banged on the door, "Abuela! You can't just tell me you'll be here for me and then run the moment you see something you don't like! I'm not asking you to accept what I do, I just want you to accept me!" Silence came back, making me even more desperate. "Yes, I lied but you just admitted the truth is no better, so what was I supposed to do! Tell me what I was supposed to do!"

The room remained deathly still and with that all the fight drained out of me, my breathing was hitched with sobs and I let myself sink to the floor knowing that it was all over.

"Abuela, please talk to me," I called to her, one more time, because I was still weak and couldn't help myself. I couldn't just walk away. I didn't know how to give up. "Abuelita…"

She didn't answer, and somewhere, underneath all my sorrow and regret was the rage that had been pushed aside for the crisis at hand. But now, with nothing else in its way, it came back and I nearly exploded with the force of it.

I pulled the keys out of my pocket, got in the car and raced straight for Quinn's place, fully intending to kill her.

The only thing I was unsure of by the time I stopped a few houses down was whether I was going to strangle her or straight up beat her to death. I hadn't wanted to alert her to my presence, so I kept my car out of sight and to ensure I got the drop on her I opted to go directly in through her bedroom window. On my approach I saw the lights weren't on, so I decided that if for some reason she wasn't home, I'd wait, preferably with a weapon, for her to return.

Sure, it broke the rules of fight club, but this wasn't Friday and I was in a rule breaking mood.

I quietly pulled her window open, knowing it was always unlocked as her own personal secret exit, and stepped inside.

If the world had gone quiet before, it stopped now.

Something inside me snapped and I was somewhere new, feeling things I didn't know how to describe.

Because on the bed was Quinn, in the middle of having sex.

With Brittany.

My Brittany.

Well, obviously not mine since Quinn was all over her.

It took a moment for them to see me, but when they did, Brittany gasped and covered herself while Quinn had the nerve to look amused.

"You know it's only polite to knock… on the door," she laughed.

I didn't say anything. I was beyond shock, fear, and anger. This was too much, with all that had happened this was too much and I couldn't handle it. So I just stood there in a weird sort of feelings limbo as Quinn stood and stretched, naked as the day she was born and walked over to me.

"Something you wanted to talk about? Or do you want to fight?" she asked, and I could see her demon practically dancing.

I only observed her, realizing for the first time what fight club was really about. It was what it had been when we were first out in the parking lot – it was about control. She wanted to own us, everything from our thoughts to our reactions, she had trained us to trust her and to fight as a way to deal with any fear, doubt, and anger, because fighting was something could control. Quinn wanted me to hurt her beyond what I would ever think myself capable of, maybe she even wanted me to kill her. But she had pushed too far. I was just floating, so deep in disbelief of how anyone could hurt me so badly I didn't even feel the pain.

This was all just about control to her, and I didn't want to play anymore.

My eyes turned to Brittany, she was scrambling to get dressed, clearly far more uncomfortable with what I'd caught them doing than Quinn. Once she was dressed she looked at me and, upon seeing my eyes on hers, looked away. I walked around Quinn and reached out my hand, not saying a word. I asked her to come with me in silence, because there were no words that were right for the moment.

I didn't know why she was with Quinn or what that meant for us, but I needed to talk with her, and only her.

She looked at my hand before she took it softly, her eyes never meeting mine for more than a moment.

The second I felt her touch I turned and pulled her after me, much to Quinn's irritation, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

I ignored her and helped Brittany out the window, but as I tried to leave as well Quinn caught me by the collar and pulled me back, "You don't get to just leave!"

After she grabbed me I wanted to hit her, so very, very badly. I wanted to beat her until she didn't have any teeth left and only several surgeries would repair her face. But I knew that leaving her without a scratch would hurt her so much more than fists ever could.

I turned away again and with agility born of months of fight club I ducked the fist I knew was coming and vaulted out the window. Brittany was standing by my car and I let her in before I looked back to be sure we weren't being followed. Quinn didn't come barreling out of the house, naked or otherwise, so I got in as well and drove.

I didn't know where I was going, but I knew it couldn't be home.

* * *

The ride was silent. Brittany was next to me not saying a word, not even to ask where we were going, though I could tell she was nervous by the way she twisted her hands. Not wanting to leave her in suspense I drove us to McKinley and parked in front of the empty school.

I owed her so much and had failed her so badly. I didn't know what I should say, but I knew that I wasn't going to leave it to her to figure out what to say to me.

Slumped over the steering wheel, head buried in my arms, I asked, "Do you love her?" Because I had to know.

"No, she doesn't love me either," she said softly, "It didn't mean anything."

I cringed at the words and wondered if she'd said them to get back at me, "Why were you with her then? No." I said suddenly, "Never mind, you don't owe me an explanation."

Brittany looked down at her hands, which were still twisting nervously. "Santana, I know after tonight you're probably over dealing with me, but did you ever… was I ever more than just a friend?"

For the first time in a long time the truth welled up in me and I didn't hold it back, "Yes, Brittany, you've always meant more to me than that. And I'm not over you, I still want to be with you as long as I possibly can, because you are the most wonderful girl I've ever met."

She seemed shocked by the surety of my words, "After you left and wouldn't call me back I tried to reach you through Quinn, but she said you weren't interested in me that way."

I sat up, my mouth hanging open in shock, "That lying- Britt, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember knowing you. And she knew that, I don't know why, but Quinn seems to want to just… I don't know, make me furious, and she used you to do it."

She gave me a half smile, "You love me?"

I looked back out over the dark lot, "More than anything, but I'm also stupid and I didn't know how to just come out and say it." I wanted to look at her, but I was too ashamed to do anything but put my head back on my arms, "And I'm sorry, about what I said before, about us, I didn't mean it. It meant everything to me, and I shouldn't have been an asshole to you to protect my garbage reputation." I felt the wet of my own tears slide down my arms, and I rubbed my eyes discretely to try and pull myself together.

I felt her hand on my back and I wanted to shrug it off because the last thing I felt I deserved was comfort. But I'd pushed her away too much already; if she wanted to comfort me, then, as odd as it sounded, I was going to have to suffer through her reassurances.

Her hand was warm, and I leaned into her touch, feeling the exhaustion of all that had happened.

"You shouldn't blame yourself. It wasn't just your fault. I was scared too."

I turned my head to the side and looked at her through watery eyes, "Of what?"

"I was scared that you didn't like me the way I liked you, that's why I didn't just tell you how I felt. I tried hinting, but I guess I'm not very good at that, and when we slept together and you didn't talk to me anymore I thought I'd just pushed too far."

I chuckled, because this was so tragically amusing, "How did we both miss how bad we wanted to be together?" I sat back, looking at the roof of the car with a sigh, "It probably would have been easier if I'd just been brave enough to tell you I was gay."

That made her laugh and I had to look over at her too see what was so funny, "I doubt that would have helped, Santana. I always knew that. But I knew that you liking girls didn't automatically mean you'd like me so I was still nervous about saying anything about how I felt." I looked at her like she had to be lying and she shrugged, " the first day I waited on you two Quinn pulled me to the side before you guys left and told me you were Lebanese.

I understood her meaning right away and cringed, "So she's been outing me to everyone since day one," I growled feeling the anger that had roared itself out try to flicker back to life.

"I didn't want things to happen this way," she said, I could hear tears in her voice and it made me have to hide my face again to keep my own at bay, "She just kept telling me how it would be better if I moved on and when I said I'd rather wait and give you time she… I don't even know how she convinced me that was a good idea. After the diner I was really hurt and she seemed really intent on showing me how people could have sex and not be attached."

My stomach flipped again – that hadn't been the first time.

"Britt?" I asked, and my voice cracked from everything I was feeling at once. "I've been through a lot of shit today, _a lot of shit_, and it's partially to do with Quinn, but honestly it's me. Rachel was right in blaming herself, because Quinn doesn't do anything we don't let her do, and I've let her make all the decisions for my life and all of them have been poorly handled. So I'm going to handle this one myself even if it terrifies me to have one more thing potentially go bad today." Brittany looked at me with glassy eyes overrunning with tears and I looked back into them, determined to face at least one life hurdle on my own, "I messed up, bad. I shouldn't have left you and I shouldn't have acted like I did at Breadstix, but I'm asking you to give me another chance. I love you, I always have and I want you to be my girlfriend more than I think I've ever wanted any other thing in life."

Brittany smiled reached over for the back of my neck, pulling me close for a soft kiss that tasted like tears, "If you want me then I'm yours, proudly so."

I couldn't keep myself form hugging her tightly; a hug made awkward by the gear shift, but neither of us seemed to care.

We didn't go home that night. We crawled into the back seat, curled into each other's arms and slept, not caring about the consequences of the outside world. I didn't care what my parents would think, or if I woke in the morning to find every Cheerio standing outside looking in and judging my proximity to another girl. My sexuality wasn't anyone else's business, but I was over hiding it and torturing myself to make everyone else think I fit in. It was making me miserable and exactly the kind of person I had been fighting so hard not to be. Brittany and I still had so much to work through with each other, and I knew with my dark overlord involved nothing would get easier.

However it was the morning that would hold abuela, school, Quinn, anger, arguments and long discussions.

This night only held gentle touches, soft kisses, and sound sleep.

* * *

It seems that whenever I say I _might_ split a chapter in two, I _do_ split it in two... maybe I should just say that from now on...

Anywho, next chapter should be the last barring some random word vomit that makes it over 20,000 words. The Quinn mystery will be solved at that time and this will all come to a close.

See you then.


	13. Final Fight

**For the final time** I shall redirect your attention to the **warning** posted in chapter 1. That said, read on.

* * *

For the first time in a long time I woke with a smile on my face. It had everything to do with the fact that Brittany was kissing me awake. My eyes opened and I was allowed almost a minute of bliss while kissing her back before I remembered why we were in each other's arms in the back seat of my dad's car. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw it was 5 a.m., way earlier than I thought it would be. I also saw that my mother and father had called me about a million times.

I looked up at Brittany; she was watching me carefully and I wanted to know what was on her mind, so I did what I'd refused to do for so long and just asked.

"What's up?"

"You look a little worried," she said softly, almost as if she hadn't wanted to tell me.

"Not worried. My parents are just flipping out 'cause I sort of ran out on them," I said as I put my phone away, "What about yours?"

She bit her lip and I could tell she really didn't want to answer that one, but she did anyway, "They already knew I was going to be gone tonight."

I didn't need to hear anymore.

I averted my eyes to the back of the driver's seat and fought to keep my mind from drifting back to the horror of last night. In the midst of my struggle, Brittany sat up, perching herself at the opposite end of the seat as if I'd banished her there.

Feeling a little bad for that, I tried to make her feel better even though the whole thing still made my heart feel like it was in a vice. "Don't blame yourself," I said, pushing her thigh lightly with my foot as I looked up at her. "I've been dealing with Quinn's manipulations for years and I know better than anyone how well she can get into your head and make anything make sense."

She looked at me, her vibrant smile from moments ago noticeably less bright, "Maybe, but you don't have to pretend that it doesn't make you sad."

I rubbed my eyes and sat up; out the window I could see the pinks and blues of dawn and somehow it was intimidating. There was so much waiting outside the car – I supposed anything would look ominous, even a bunny eating a marshmallow. I looked around the parking lot and saw that we were still alone, but I knew that wouldn't last too much longer. At the least Sylvester would be around shortly.

"Brittany, everything that's happened in the past couple of years has made me sad, but being with you isn't one of them. I'm not a fan of Quinn pawing all over you, but that's in the past, right?"

I asked, because I still wasn't confident enough to just outright believe she wanted me, but she nodded her head immediately and confidently, "Yes."

"Then so is me acting like a giant asshole when we're in front of people I know. We're starting over remember? None of the other stuff matters."

With a nod she climbed carefully into the front seat, "In that case we better get you home with a good excuse or your abuela won't let us go out anymore."

I followed her, trying not to look pained, "Uh, she didn't know about how I felt about you… or girls at all, and after she found out I don't think she's ever going to talk to me again, so I don't think we have to worry about that. My parents might try and ground me, though."

"Have you tried talking to her about it? Like sitting her down and explaining everything?"

I had to turn around and fish the keys off the floor of the back seat, but after I did I started the car and found the strength to answer the question, "Quinn told her yesterday. I haven't had the chance to try, but I bet if I did manage to get her to sit down, I doubt anything would be different. Quinn made sure she got the point and I think it made her even less receptive to the whole idea than she already was."

Brittany said nothing as I pulled out of the parking lot, but she did reach over and run her fingers through my ruffled hair. The feel of her fingers running along my scalp was a lot more comforting that I ever would have imagined. She simply sat there, offering tactile comfort on the short ride home, and as far as I'd come I still didn't think I deserved it.

The lights in her house were still off when we pulled up, and I wondered if it would be possible for her to sneak me in her room, so I could hide until I was ready to face the world.

But there had been enough hiding already, so instead I turned to Brittany and gave her a long kiss; partially because I loved kissing her, but mostly because it made me feel like I was strong enough to do anything.

She looked at me with those same timid eyes, "When will I see you again?"

That made me feel a little bad. She was still afraid I was going to disappear again. I understood that, though; fear in the face of constant reassurance.

Abuela had said she'd love me no matter what.

"Well, I don't know how mad my parents are going to be when I get home. I may be grounded for a day or two, or however long they plan to stay in town, but after that how about I take you to dinner?"

She thought about that, "How about I take _you_ out and it's a date."

I nodded, "Fine, you take me out, and if you go a week without hearing from me, it's because Quinn went crazy and slit my throat in my sleep."

I was only half kidding.

"What…" I started and stopped. I wasn't sure if this was something I wanted to get into at the moment, but since it had to come up at some time, sooner was better than later, "What do your parents think about you dating girls?"

Once again she seemed reluctant to answer, "Er, they don't care."

"Do you know that or are you guessing?"

"I know," she said and when I continued to stare hard she went on, "The morning after we slept together I got a little ahead of myself and told them we were seeing each other; they kind of shrugged it off."

"They still think we're dating?"

She nodded, "I didn't want to admit that we were over that fast, at least not out loud."

"You won't have to anymore," I hoped that my sincerity reached her. I hadn't been that honest with many people.

I learned then how quickly her smile could alleviate my guilt faster and more powerfully than fight club ever could. With all that had happened and all that would happen, all I could think as she kissed me one final time and climbed out of the car was that I couldn't be happier.

* * *

The moment I stepped back into my house my mom was the first thing I saw. I expected yelling, accusations, and name calling. Instead she watched me carefully like I might run if she got too close and my dad just stood back by the door with a serious look on his face, and I could only assume he was resisting asking about his car.

"Where were you?" my mother finally asked.

"I came here to try to talk to abuela, and when that went to shit I just went for a drive."

It wasn't total honesty, but Brittany wasn't any of their business just yet.

My dad finally joined us and placed a hand on my head as if he didn't really know how to comfort someone.

I was pretty sure he didn't.

"You scared us. You could have at least answered your phone."

"I fell asleep and it was on vibrate, I'm home now though."

"I'm sorry about your abuela," dad said, looking off towards his mother's door which was still firmly shut.

I was a little sick of everyone apologizing for everyone else in this family. If abuela herself wasn't sorry for what happened, then I didn't really care.

"Is she just going to avoid me forever?"

"She's going to try," he sighed and rubbed his eyes, "She isn't even here anymore. As of last night, she's decided to stay in a hotel until she can find other living arrangements."

That hurt. A lot. She hardly had any money, but she was willing to spend every penny to get away from me.

Apparently my pain showed on my face, so my mother dared to step closer to clarify, "Don't think it was just you. We had some words with her as well when we got home. Everyone thought it would be best, so we paid for her hotel so she could take her opinion of you somewhere else."

That was just as upsetting. I wanted her to still be here. I wanted to fight with my last breath for an ounce of respect from her. I couldn't even tell if that was fight club or just me; if I was just that desperate for her love. However, I could also see how her leaving was probably in everyone's best interest.

"So when are you guys heading out?" I asked as I started for the stairs.

I hadn't planned to go to school, but I could easily pretend to go and find something else to do until Brittany was done with school and work.

"We aren't leaving."

Those words surprised me. It had been my father's voice, but somehow I couldn't even believe it.

"You aren't?"

My dad chuckled, "How could we? After all that talk about not wanting to leave you alone how could we after all that's happened?"

An irrational anger flooded me, "How could you in the first place?!"

I could feel myself doing it again. Once again I couldn't place the cause, but something inside me rejected the idea of us just deciding it was time to be a family.

"Santana, we know we've made mistakes, but we're here now," my mom started.

"No! Don't try and make this alright because you just realized you're both total fuckups! What, you're going to stay because you found out I'm gay?! Oh, Santana needs someone to hold her hand through this trying time?! News flash: There are other things going on in my life other than being a lesbian. That is one of, like, a billion things that's happened in the years since you started flying around the country to help every family _but_ your own! So please, don't think you need to stop now on my account. I've gotten by without you most of my life and I can make it a few more years!"

I was yelling and I knew better. Everything was already so bad, yet I couldn't shut up and take what they were giving me. I wanted to, I actually wanted to, but I couldn't; the idea of falling back into being the same fake liar I had been made me more wildly defiant than the notion of telling abuela the truth about Brittany had.

They didn't respond right away, and I was enough of a kid to worry if they were going to leave me again. Even with all the rejection and rebellion swirling within me I wanted so much for them to genuinely care and that made me feel so awful I couldn't even stomach it. I didn't want to want their love.

We all sort of stared at each other until my dad spoke again, "You're right, we should have been here all along. We'll do everything we can to try and make up for what's happened even though there is nothing that can repair years of not only being alone but _feeling_ alone. All we can do now is be here for you, but nothing we do will help even slightly if you won't let us. You can't fight like this every time we try and get close, Santana. So will you let us try?"

He made a compelling argument, but I wasn't exactly in a forgiving mood.

"I don't want to be late to school," I said as I turned and resumed my walk up to my room.

"Santana."

It was my mother's voice and it was equal parts commanding and calm. This was certainly not the time for her bullshit, but in an attempt to keep the peace I turned around and looked at her.

"Every time we've come home you do this; you push us away until we're too tired to fight any more and leave. I don't want to do that anymore; I want to get to know my daughter, so I'm asking that you put aside all the problems you have with us, for a little bit and let us be a family. Maybe you could forget about school and cheerleading just for today and we can enjoy each other's company for the first time in I don't recall how long. You don't have to talk to us about anything you don't want to, but let's talk about something."

I considered throwing the offer back in her face, but the idea of seeing Quinn grinning and plotting next to me in class didn't appeal, so I nodded and came back down.

I did it offhandedly, to avoid having to face my nemesis and to kill time until I got to see Brittany, but instead I genuinely enjoyed spending the day with them. Mom made breakfast that didn't taste half as good as abuela's but solved the issue of hunger; dad was in charge of lunch, but instead of trying his hand at cooking he drove us the long way to the nearest Burger King so I could point out all the things that had changed since they'd last stayed in town more than a week. We talked a lot. My parents had plenty of stories to share, stories that were new to everyone but the person telling them since they hadn't talked to each other in a long time as well. I heard about some of the odd diseases my dad had treated and about the successes and failures of my mother's procedures. I told them about Rachel and her dying father, about how I thought Quinn was going through a tough time at home and how I had met some new people who were totally different from the normal group I hung with. I didn't mention fight club, or how I'd been struggling with a crippling fear of rejection that had only become worse after my worst fear was realized, but it was a start.

It was oddly relaxing to be with them. Without snarky comments or arguments they were decent people and I could see why they had gotten married in the first place. By late afternoon I couldn't claim to have forgiven them for everything, and I still felt an acute fear that all they'd said was just talk and they'd be gone again soon, but I did dare to mention Brittany.

I only did so because, since I wasn't grounded for my previous actions, I wanted to see her as soon as possible. I even told them we were dating. Neither of them seemed to want to let me wander off, but they did, and I could see my mother itching to warn me about staying out too late or getting into things she wouldn't want me to, but she didn't. The car keys were given into my care by my father, which surprised me since I assumed with abuela leaving my driving privileges would vanish also. They both hugged me goodbye and sent me on my way. Maybe they wanted to keep the truce we'd built up going, I didn't know. All I did know as I walked out the door was that I was unbelievably excited because it was the first time I'd left my house to meet my girlfriend. It was the first time that doing so didn't have to be a secret.

The moment I got into the car I texted Brittany to tell her I would pick her up from work, and when she sent back that she couldn't wait to see me, I felt the happiest I had in a very long time.

* * *

"I finished the village," Brittany said as we walked into her room.

There on her dresser was a newspaper city populated with the small people we had crafted. I still didn't know why exactly she needed to make it, probably only because she wanted to, and I didn't really need to know. She was proud of the thing we made together, so I was proud of it too.

"Looks good," was all I was able to say since my mind was still back downstairs.

After bringing her home I met her parents at the door. They didn't act any differently, but somehow them knowing that I wanted their daughter in _that_ way sort of changed things. Especially with us heading up to her room after she'd just taken me out to eat an absurdly lavish dinner and I felt like repaying her in the best way I knew how.

"Artie says it's depressing, because most of the clippings are about sad things, but I didn't want to ruin the funny pages."

I chuckled, "You could have used the want ads or something."

"It wouldn't have mattered, he wouldn't have said anything nice anyway – he's still mad I got you."

My eyes widened in surprise, "What? He can't possibly be interested in me; he nearly bit my head off when he caught me talking to you."

"Yeah, but he's always kind of unnecessarily protective of me when we're out, but later I told him all about you and then when I told him we were dating, he was totally jealous that I'd got a hot, funny, smart, popular cheerleader for a girlfriend."

"When you put it that way, I sound like a catch," she seemed to have a boundless ability to flatter me.

"You are."

"So you already told your friends about us?"

"Yeah, about the same time I told my parents."

I was so glad I managed to get myself together, because the notion of her having to hang her head in shame and tell everyone she didn't actually have a girlfriend was just too tragic. Especially given how badly I'd been pining after her for the longest time.

"I was always under the impression that you homeschoolers thought us public school kids were idiots," I said to try and lighten the mood a little.

A sly smile slid over her lips, "That tends to be the thought process of most, but you're on the honor roll and I'm hardly one to try and dismiss someone because they aren't super smart. Besides, most of my friends think having to deal with that many other people every day is scary, and on top of that it isn't even the same group for each class and you get new classmates and teachers every year. I think you guys are all kinds of awesome for not freaking out from just hearing about it."

Again she was making me sound like more than I was, so in appreciation of that I leaned forward and gave her a kiss that was supposed to be short but ended with me in her arms, moaning into her mouth. Kissing her without worrying about who knew, or how badly it would end, was even more exhilarating than anything we'd done before and it made me want to do so much more.

"Speaking of misconceptions," I said, trying to get a hold of myself, "I always thought homeschool kids were all socially awkward with no working concept of kissing or sex, but you are quite skilled at both."

She didn't respond right away and I realized my statement had seemed more accusatory than complimentary.

"I didn't- I'd never been with anyone before you," she said quickly, guilt shining through her eyes, "I was only with Quinn because she was really sure you didn't want to be in a relationship and-"

I shook my head and kissed her again, "I didn't mean it like that. Let's forget about her and her lies and just enjoy what we have together now."

Her eyes suddenly seemed sad, "I was really scared I'd lost you," she said and her voice sounded strained, "When you found me with Quinn I thought you'd never want to talk to me again and I realized that you're all I've got. My family tries to care more, but they're still so far away, and all my friends have more important people and things in their lives. I just need you to know you're the most important thing in my life and I love you."

"So are you and I love you too," I said, simply, giving her my most reassuring smile.

My words seemed to console her and she kissed me back, "By the way, I only kind of knew what I was doing because I'd done, like, a ton of internet research before I was brave enough to call you over." Her face turned dark red with the admission.

I couldn't help but give a look of surprise, "Research, huh?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair.

I pushed it aside and found her eyes, "That sounds like something I'd want to see."

That made her smile, "You're talented enough without it."

That had us back to making out, but we were interrupted by a knock on the door shortly followed by Brittany's dad stepping in. Luckily, at the sound we had moved far enough apart to appear innocent, though Brittany was still bright red.

"Hey, girls, just checking in. Are either of you hungry?"

"No, dad," Brittany said quickly.

He looked between us as if he didn't quite buy how separate we were but nodded and left, and I couldn't help but note he did so without closing the door again.

"Sometimes them paying attention to me again has its drawbacks."

"I know that feeling," I grumbled before turning to sit on the bed in the hopes she would join me since it was at such a far angle from the door we could resume our previous activities.

Before she followed me she gave the door a small push, closing it a bit more, and as if reading my mind the moment she sat down we were back to where we left off except this time felt a bit more sexually charged since she had me pinned to her bed. That and that Brittany's hand made a home on my stomach and was tracing feather-light patterns from my belly button to the very edge of my jeans and it was making me nearly dizzy with arousal.

She seemed to be trying to push me to action, and I really did want to go beyond making out, because if just kissing was this much better now I could only imagine how the sex would be. The only thing that held me back was the slight worry that her parents might walk in at any moment, and no matter how chill they were about their daughter's sexuality I was pretty sure even they cared enough to get upset if they caught us like that.

Although after several minutes of that treatment I had to pull her hands away, because ten seconds more and I wasn't going to care who came through the door.

"Britt, we either need to slow down or block the door off and commit to this, because it's a little much for me to handle without going all the way."

She laughed and leaned back, giving me the time to breathe in air I didn't realize I needed so badly, "I'm sorry," she said and I knew she really wasn't, but that was fine. "I just want to touch you all the time. Besides, you make the cutest little noises when I do."

"I do not!" I protested indignantly.

She placed a kiss on my forehead, "You do and I love it." I huffed in response, but couldn't help the smile that crept on my face.

I never would have imagined that there would be a point where the pretty waitress at the Burger Shack would in fact be my girl, but here it was. And I was aware that all this positive change was due to Quinn, but I was still furious with her and refused to actively acknowledge her interference as help. I was still proud of myself, because I could have lied to abuela and my parents and just said Quinn was crazy and I could have just walked away from what I saw in Satan's bedroom and written Brittany off as a lost cause, but I hadn't. That was me, not Quinn, and I wouldn't forget that.

"So when can I take _you_ out on an official date?" I asked, trying to distract myself from how badly I wanted to taste her lips again.

"Well, I didn't expect to see you for a while, so I cleared up next Monday afternoon, thinking that would be the soonest I would be allowed to take you out." She seemed just as magnetized to me as I was to her, because her hand was on my stomach again and I was sure I caught the tail end of a soft whimper escape me.

How did I not notice I did that?

She smiled knowingly as she resumed that maddening pattern, "How did that go by the way? You and your parents? You didn't argue with them or anything, did you?" she asked.

"A little, but they seemed set on letting the past go," all my bravado slipped a bit as I confessed, "I told them about us – they even know I'm here now."

She smiled widely, "You did? What did they say?"

I shrugged, "Nothing really, they just sent me on my way. I guess they didn't want to rock the boat by reminding me of my curfew."

"Boats don't rock because you talk on them; they must not have said anything because they trusted you to come home on time," she said, stopping the hypnotizing swirl of her fingers and looking at the clock.

"Maybe you should head home. It's getting late."

I frowned, "What? They let me out of the house on a free pass and you want to send me back?"

"I don't want you abusing their trust over me. I want to meet them and I want them to like me when I do."

Her explanation had me baffled, yet it made perfect sense. "I want you to meet them too. I think they might be turning into the kind of people I wouldn't mind introducing."

She smiled down at me and gave me another kiss before pulling me up, "You better go then."

"Britt, I don't have to be home until ten, that's a half hour from now."

"You getting back a few minutes early might buy me some extra affection."

I realized offhandedly that her concern was based off the fact that her own parents were still a lost cause. Pulling her back down on the bed, I placed my hand on her jaw, keeping her eyes on mine and rubbed my thumb along her neck.

"They will love you, even if I show up an hour late." With that I tried to sneak in some extra time by replacing my thumb with my lips, but she didn't fall for that for long.

"But they'll love me more if you're early; now go," she said eagerly, and I could tell she wanted to send me back as a message of good will.

If that was what she truly wanted, I would give it to her, but not without letting her know the consequences of such actions. I sat up and yawned, stretching while doing so and enjoying the way my muscles flexed. The only thing I enjoyed more was watching Brittany's eyes follow my every motion.

"Okay, I'll go then, but not before I get a goodnight kiss."

I leaned over her, purposefully laying down between her legs, and gave her a deep kiss before deliberately grinding against the delicate fabric of her shorts that separated her clit from the rough feel of my jeans. I knew the sensation affected her because she was the one to deepen the kiss and I could feel her legs open a little wider for me, so I took hold of her hips and did it again, pressing into her a little harder, earning myself a heady groan. I bit at her lips and did it again, and when her whole body shuddered in pleasure, I leapt up.

"Better get going then, wouldn't want to be late. See you tomorrow?"

She just looked at me through dilated eyes, her mind still lost in the position we had just been in. When she finally caught up, an adorable look of fury spread across her face, "You are horrible!" I leaned over for a final, final kiss goodbye and got a pillow to the face instead, "Lord Tubbington is my new number one best friend!"

"Please, Tubbs can't rock your world like I just did."

Even she couldn't argue that so she stood and pulled me close, "Next time we meet you'd better finish what you started."

I couldn't keep the cocky smirk off my face, "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

I had a good day that turned into a good week.

To my utter astonishment, when I returned to school, sulky and ready to face whatever bullshit Quinn had prepared, I found there was none. In fact, Quinn didn't show up to school or fight club for over two weeks. I was sure she had the connections to make that okay and it did worry me a little, but I refused to dwell on her. It was especially easy to forget her crap when Brittany convinced her parents to allow her to have a nature walk as part of her science curriculum which was ultimately her walking to McKinley where I would meet her for lunch. Sometimes we'd eat and talk and other times we'd find an unoccupied room and occupy the hell out of it. I saw her almost every day and it made me so happy I could hardly believe that I wasn't in an alternate reality. Not everything was perfect, though; my abuela hadn't said a word to me since the night I confronted her. I'd even stopped by her hotel and left a note and tried calling repeatedly only to get no answer. That part of my life still hurt a great deal, but when Brittany was at my side at dinner with my parents and we were all getting along, it was impossible to let that stop me from enjoying my life.

There was also the fact that now that my parents knew Brittany was my girlfriend they had a completely new set of rules regarding my room and how long we could go undisturbed in it. Which was why it was way more awesome that my dad finally got me my own car. It was used because he wanted me to learn a lesson about responsibility or some nonsense, but ultimately what it meant was that school and the back seat of _my_ car was where we spent most of our intimate moments. And it was fine, because it wasn't about me hiding her or who I was.

I was pretty sure most of my classmates figured out that the girl who kept bringing me lunches was more than a friend, but no one dared say anything, because with Quinn gone I was the Head Bitch In Charge and acting captain of the Cheerios. No one dared question me and I didn't offer any answers, though I still would have told anyone brave enough to try the truth.

Rachel eventually returned with a bit of good news: her father was still quite ill and probably still going to die, but his quality and length of life had greatly improved once my dad made a few phone calls to an oncologist who owed him a favor.

After school Brittany and I would sometimes hang with our ex-club members and it was surprisingly the first group of friends I'd ever been with that I would actually call friends. I found out that Lauren won the state wrestling championship and Tina finally broke up with Mike and hit it off with some other guy named Matt, who apparently made her so much happier. According to them our fight club still went on, but it was less of an angst fest and more of a friendly spar. The other offshoots were still out there and we didn't feel the need to bother with them.

Three weeks of no Quinn and I found the courage to introduce Brittany to Tina, Lauren, and Rachel as my girlfriend, though no one seemed particularly surprised.

Everything was going so well.

It was all perfect.

And I was fucking stupid to think it would stay that way.

* * *

In the middle of class, Tuesday afternoon, I got a text from Quinn.

The only thing written was an address, from the looks of it, to the middle of nowhere.

I ignored it.

An hour later I got another text from her. It said: **Meet me or regret it.**

I glared at my phone and sent back: **Then make me regret it bitch**

I knew I shouldn't have done it; I knew I should have just ignored her and gone on about my day, pretending to have seen nothing, but I was still angry about the needless heartache she put me through.

Another twenty minutes passed before I got a text that said: **Fine, I have Brittany here tied up comic book style so if you aren't here real soon I'm going to start cutting things off her**

I stared at it for a long time, feeling a cold sweat break out as my imagination went wild. She wouldn't, would she? No, there was no evidence to say she would not in fact cut Brittany up just to agitate me.

There was the off chance she was bluffing, so as I raced down the hall, away from cheer practice and towards my car I called Brittany. All I got was her voicemail and it made my heart drop. I tried the Burger Shack and only found that she hadn't come in to work. That made me break into a run.

I didn't have her parents' cell numbers and they didn't have a land line, so my options were to go to Quinn or go to Brittany's house.

Determined, I leapt in my Kia to hightail it to the address I'd been sent. Brittany could be simply sitting in her room, looking up new ways to keep our sex life interesting or she could be being slowly murdered by a teenage psychopath. I couldn't take a chance and waste time checking her house if it was the latter.

It was difficult to drive at top speed on a barely visible dirt road while trying to hold and read my phone's GPS and fight off a panic attack. I managed and soon saw the only building standing within a hundred miles inch closer in the distance. I tossed my phone aside and floored it to get to the building, my anxiety only increasing when I saw Quinn's car parked outside.

I'd barely put the car in park before I dashed out and raced to the rickety door of the ominously tall, and apparently abandoned building. The inside was dark despite the many windows that streamed the fading light of day in, and the entire thing was filled with concrete, rebar, and steel support beams, making me think it had been some sort of storage spot for such things at one point. Now everything was tossed all over the place, criss crossing and intertwining, giving it an M. C. Escher-esque look.

I considered being subtle, but I worried there was no time, so instead I just screamed out, "Hello?! I'm here!"

In response I heard an amused titter that let me know Quinn was somewhere nearby.

"Up here!" she called, and when I looked up, I could see her in the rafters a couple of stories above my head.

"Where's Brittany?!" I shouted immediately.

She shrugged, "You'll have to come up. There's a ladder to your right."

I looked over and sure enough there was a ladder, but I didn't trust it, or her for that matter.

"Quinn, what do you want?!"

"For you to come up!" she called before she stood and vanished into the jumble of wires and beams above.

Knowing this would end in a tetanus shot at the very least, I climbed the rickety, rusty ladder high up to where the third floor would be if this building bothered with things like that. Instead of an actual floor there was a plank of wood that was about ten by twenty in size that seemed to have been carefully rigged to sit steadily on the rafters.

I looked around and was about to call for Quinn again when I heard a loud thump behind me, and before I could turn I was shoved out into the center of the platform. I turned and wasn't surprised to see Quinn standing there with a smug look on her face. She was wearing a white tee shirt tucked into black spanks. It wasn't anything special, but it was unusual attire for her which made me feel like she was going to do something unusual.

I gulped as I watched her kick the ladder hard, and a weird sort of dread filled me as it clattered to the ground. I was left adrift in the air with the world's craziest cheerleader.

"Where's Brittany?" I asked again, trying to mask how scared I was getting.

"I killed her already," she said simply.

My mouth fell open and the horror of it made my anger burn white hot, "You're lying!"

She laughed, "I am. Brittany's probably at Baskin-Robbins with her phone turned off, waiting for you to show up and give her a surprise like you told her to in your text."

"Wha-" I hadn't sent her a text, but I had left my phone unattended at points during the day, and with Quinn's fight club drones willing to do anything for her I was willing to bet if I checked my text log to Brittany I'd see just that.

I was still afraid of whatever the hell this was, but knowing the girl I loved was safe made me a little more brave.

"What the fuck is this?!"

She spread her arms, "Our final fight."

The word fight sent me into a rage, "I'm done fighting with you, Quinn! The club was stupid and I was stupid for letting you talk me into it! And what makes you think I'd want to do _anything_ with you after the shit you pulled?!"

"You're mad at me for outing you? I'm sorry, did it all turn out poorly? Did Brittany break up with you? Did your parents fly away?"

The fact that she knew everything was okay made me even angrier somehow, "You know they didn't! But you hurt me, Quinn. You knew how I felt about Brittany and you lied to her just to get to me! You knew my abuela wouldn't accept who I am and you still showed her your damned dildo! And I don't care how it all turned out, it wasn't your right to tell anyone about me!"

"True, but I did it and it's done, and now this is happening."

"Quinn, I won't fight you," I said quietly, intent on stay calm.

"Won't you? After everything I did? You know I fucked Brittany more than once, right?" I did know, and I didn't open my mouth to respond to her jibe, "And I don't mean that week I mean that night. I didn't know when you'd arrive, so I kind of had to keep her busy until you showed up." My eyes darted around looking for another way to the ground, but there wasn't a single one that didn't look like certain death. "What if I told you Mercedes was my fault?"

I pinched my eyes closed, "It was your and Rachel's fault, and mine for not fucking stopping you."

She shook her head, "No, I mean it was directly my fault. I followed her out of the school and offered her a ride home, only I picked on her the whole way back. I laughed about what happened. I called her fat and I promised that no one would love someone as ugly as her, especially after what happened. I even followed her into her house and kept it up, but she didn't say anything back. When she went to take a shower, I waited to keep on going since she was just letting me, but after about an hour I realized she wasn't coming out. I found her in the bathroom, still dressed, slumped in the tub with the shower running and a bottle of pills on the floor. After that I got the hell out of there."

I could only gape at her, "Why?"

"Does it matter? Could there ever actually be a real reason? How about you come over here and punish me for it."

"No."

"If you don't, the same could happen to Brittany, and her parents are not likely to find her the same way Mercedes' did."

"No!" I snapped, "Stop it! Stop this! Why did you trap me up here?! Ask Karofsky, he hates you enough! Why me?! Why are you so set on hurting me?!"

I hadn't cried since the last time I saw abuela, but I was crying now. I felt miserable and powerless and I needed to at least know why it was happening.

"Because you're the only one left who can judge me, and I think you're the only one left who will. Rachel ran, Brittany's too stubborn, and Lauren and Tina don't have the stomach. I thought Mercedes might, but I was wrong."

"What do you mean judge you?! You're a selfish, bitchy, two-faced asshole! There! Happy?!"

She smiled, "And what's my sentence?"

"Getting the fuck away from me and Brittany!"

She walked closer and knelt next to me on the floor, "Ah, see, now who's selfish? That solves your problem but not mine or anyone else's I encounter. The only sentence for me is death and you're the one to carry it out."

"What?" I asked, my mouth dry.

"You are the one who will save me from myself. You will save the world from me-"

"Quinn, I'm not going to kill you."

"I worried you might take that stance, hence why we are here." She stood again and pointed to the opposite side of our platform. "There is another ladder over there. It's hard to reach, but if you take it slow you can shimmy down to it and make it to safety. However," she grabbed my arm and pulled me forcibly to the edge. I tried to resist, but she was stronger than I remembered, "should you fall, there is no safe place to land."

I looked down to see that the platform was above a pit of carefully arranged rebar wire and jagged pieces of metal coating the floor, as if the sheer height of the fall wasn't enough.

I crawled back to relative safety, "Why not just do it yourself?!" I yelled, again trying to mask my mounting terror.

"I told you, I'm not strong enough for that. I've tried, trust me, but I always back out. I thought Mercedes might turn and kill me once I had the audacity to follow her to her room," she sighed wistfully, "I don't think I'd ever been so jealous, seeing her lying there."

I took her moment of calm as a possible window to her sanity, "Why, Quinn? Why do you think you deserve death? What's so wrong? Can't you let someone try to help you before you resort to this?"

When she looked at me again, I realized there was no demon in her eyes, the demon was her and she was not in a discussing mood any longer.

"If you want to make it to that ladder, you're going to have to push me off the edge, otherwise I'm going to kill you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she punched and I dodged. She missed my eye by an inch, "No head shots!" I snapped.

"Normal rules don't apply here. This is a fight to the death, only one of us leaves here alive, so get up and survive."

"I don't want to do this," I pleaded again, but she kicked me in the stomach so hard I collapsed to the floor in agony.

"You don't do this and you won't see Brittany again, and after I kill you I'll go to her. And you just know she'll be broken up and cling to the first person who reaches out and it'll be me. I'm not a dyke, but I would gladly make a living fucking her mentally and physically just to make you spin in your grave."

I knew she was trying to make me angry. It was working. And as far as killing her went at this point it was self-defense.

But I still didn't want to do it.

After everything, as much as I hated her, I didn't want her dead and I certainly didn't want to do the deed. However, I did also believe every word she said and there was no way I could leave Brittany at her mercy.

She marched closer and yanked me to my feet before shoving me hard towards the edge, "Fucking fight, coward!" she shouted before she swung.

I knew when I saw her fist come that it would kill me; I was off balance, on the edge and there was nothing to hold on to. So I ducked, and instinct made me launch at her in a shoulder tackle before I pinned her to the ground and slugged her across the face. That made her smile and the next thing I knew she'd hammered me back in the throat and I fell off her, sputtering.

"That's more like it. If you'd had that spunk when you banged Brittany the first time, maybe it wouldn't have been so easy for me to make her come over and over."

My temper finally overtook my fear, "Fuck you, Quinn!" I yelled as I jumped up and let my fist make solid contact with the underside of her jaw. When she stumbled back, I kicked her right in the kidney with all I had. I heard her cry out in pain and didn't care as I continued to kick her while she was down. She grabbed my leg and spun, making me fall forward, dangerously close to the edge of our arena. I tried to scramble back, unfortunately she had a solid hold on me and stood up dragging me around the platform like a mop. I kicked at her with my other foot, but she caught it and, like Brittany had done to her, began to swing my body around a couple of times before she let go.

I'd never felt terror like the kind I got from sailing helplessly through the air towards my death. Luckily I crashed to the ground a second before flying over and was able to claw the upper half of my body back to safety.

As I hung there Quinn walked up slowly, her eyes dark and haunting. She sat down next to me Indian style as my legs kicked, desperately trying to find purchase. Of all the ways I could die, alone with Quinn, in my Cheerios uniform, was probably the least optimal.

She watched me struggle and pant for a moment before she said, "My dad fucks me. Almost every night."

If I hadn't been fighting for my life, I might have gone completely still with surprise. I'd worried it would be something like that, but I'd never imagined it was something ongoing.

"And y'know, it wouldn't be so bad if I could react normally," she went on as if I weren't seconds from death, or maybe that was the reason she was confessing at all, "but a few months ago he was there banging away and," she laughed in a weird, strangled way, "I came. Like, legit orgasm came. What the shit is that about?" I grunted as I tried to hoist my lower half up on the platform and Quinn seemed to take that as a response, "Yeah, that's why I wanted you to pound me with a dildo. I just didn't want to associate dicks and orgasms with my dad anymore." She looked down at her hands and I took a deep breath to try and steady myself to try and make it back up again. "The most fucked up part about all this is I still love my dad; I still want his approval; I still want to make him proud of me. Seriously, who does that?" she asked with a laugh, though she was crying now. "My mom just lets it happen while she gets drunk in another room. She let it happen to Fran and she let it happen to me. I mean, that's bad, but why is she the only one I hate?"

I finally managed to get a foot on the edge, but she nonchalantly pushed it off, making me claw at the wood as my weight pulled me down. I had to start to consider I could really die here, and that prompted me to decided to try another method.

My arms were getting tired, and my tormentor was my only ticket out, "Quinn, we can get you help. You aren't the only one who's been abused."

She snorted, "No, thanks. Fran got help. She left the second she could and she left me in that house to move on to a new life complete with a shrink and a husband." She looked at me, her eyes reflecting nothing but misery, "I went to stay with her over the summer. She's strung out on drugs. She fights with her husband constantly when he's not off with some skank and all she can do is go to her shitty job as a desk clerk so she can make enough money to pay for the doctor that isn't helping. I don't want to be her."

"Then don't," I grunted, wanting to help, but wanting solid ground more, "You can be better than her."

"I don't even want to be. I don't want to live with everything I've seen running around in my head. I'm done with life – totally done. What kind of person comes when their dad fucks them? Who lets their dad get them pregnant and then debates over whether to keep the damn thing or not? I'm not normal; I'm not a good person and you of all people know that. I don't want some doctor trying to convince me that what happened is okay, or that it isn't my fault-"

"But it isn't," I said quietly, since every ounce of effort was in keeping my arms strong, "Please let me up."

She only looked at me for a moment and I slipped a little, then she turned her eyes to the warehouse, "I already have a suicide note for the police to find so you won't have to worry about being found out, so if I help you, will you help me?"

I nodded, willing to agree to anything to get her to get me out of this. She watched me for a moment and finally grabbed me by the collar and helped me up. I collapsed in front of her and quickly moved away in case she decided to change her mind about letting me live. But she only sat there looking tired before she stood once more waiting for me to do something.

My heart was pounding and my fingers were bleeding from having scratched at the wood for so long, "This isn't the only answer, we… we could call the cops or child services or we could get you out of that house, away from him and once you are I promise you'll feel better."

"You said you'd help me," she said, looking at me with hard eyes that seemed content to toss me off the edge again.

"I am!"

"I'm not going to have everyone in Ohio pity me as the poor girl whose dad raped her. I couldn't possibly live through high school like that. I can barely stand to be known as the friend of a lesbian."

I pinched my nose in frustration, "No one will tease you! And if they try, I'll deal with them; fight club will deal with them. This isn't a hopeless situation! You're a victim whether you believe it or not!"

"Am I? What about everything I did to you? And Brittany? And Rachel, and Mercedes-"

"Yeah, you've done some fucked up things, but I don't think death is the answer."

"You and I don't see eye to eye on that point," she sighed. "Santana, I'm tired, and I'm sick of going to bed knowing what's coming and waking up remembering it. I don't want to fix this – I want it over. And I am still willing to toss you over the edge if that's what it'll take to make you fight back. I wish I could just let you do it, but I have this self-preservation and acute fear of death and what comes after that won't just let me end it, so you're really going to have to fight me."

I swallowed heavily and approached her. As always I could see her logic, and I could completely understand her not wanting to have to face another day of her life. She had made up her mind, and letting her live meant leaving everyone at the mercy of her suicidal madness. It would subject my family and Brittany to it, and it would only get worse as she got older.

That's what I had to tell myself anyway as I took a swing at her. She dodged, but there was a pleased light in her eyes as we started our dance. I struck out and she ducked me and for once I could read her as easily as Brittany had. She was happy; this was the end, the last dance she'd have to do. There was no more pretending or torment left, she could finally get what she wanted. She could finally have what she'd been afraid to obtain for herself.

This whole time she had been just as scared as me, afraid of someone knowing her secrets, afraid of the future she'd have carrying them. Afraid of the drones she commanded turning on her, judging her for the company she kept and the things that had happened to her. She'd even told me at Puck's party, but I hadn't realized that summary included her.

I finally landed a blow to her stomach and followed it up with another to her face. Her nose bloomed into blood and I remembered how this started; I remembered how broken she was then and my heart clenched. She caught me by the throat and dropped an elbow on my clavicle hard enough to break it, but the bone just held and I managed to twist away. Her laugh echoed through the empty building and the reddish, gold light of sunset streamed in, making the whole scene surreal.

We traded blows until neither of us could stand without feeling searing pain, neither gaining any real ground, but eventually she slipped up and lunged for me when I expected it. I landed a punch to her temple that sent her tumbling down and almost completely off the platform. She lay there, like a wounded animal, unable to get her bearings and I approached, trying to think of a way to not have to do what I was about to do.

A victim should have the choice whether they wanted to live or not, right?

It was an ethical debate I didn't have the brains for.

Her eyes were still unfocused as I pushed her towards the edge, sobbing like an idiot, crying even though adrenaline was now numbing all my wounds. I couldn't even pinpoint what had me so upset, Quinn's predicament, my role in her impending death or my sorrow over losing someone I still thought of as a friend somehow.

"Just do it," she coughed through the blood that was filling her mouth. "This isn't murder – it's mercy."

I could do it; all I would have to do was shove a little and let gravity do the rest, but then I thought of Brittany.

She'd been hurt that way too, and though it wasn't to the same extent something in me crumbled at the thought that one day this could be her. That what happened could eat at her until she didn't want to live anymore. I didn't think she would. Brittany was a happy person who seemed to have put her past behind her, but up until recently Quinn had seemed like an average, bitchy cheerleader, and then came fight club.

The circumstances were completely different and there was no reason to think Brittany would end up like Quinn, but that selfish part of me needed assurance. I needed Quinn to be okay, because if she could pull through, Brittany would be fine. The logic was flawed and desperate, and deep down I knew one person's pain would do nothing to help gauge another's, but it was something I needed all the same. I didn't want to be in a world where I'd put a friend down like a stray dog. I didn't want to worry that one day it might happen again to someone I love. It felt too much like giving up and letting the truly sick people win.

On the other hand she needed more help than I thought it possible for any person to give.

I dug my hands into the fabric of her shirt, wanting to give her what she wanted; I wanted to set her free. I focused on all she'd been through. I summoned my anger at all she'd done to me and pushed. Her body started to fall and it was moments from being over. Then my hands clinched and I yanked her back at the last second.

I thought I could, but I was wrong. I couldn't kill her.

"You're going to have to kill yourself on your own time, because I won't do it!" I shouted at her, angry at the world for being shit and angry with her for putting me in this position. "You have to pull it together and I know you can!"

With a great heave I pulled her away from the edge and hoisted her up on my back as I went to find the ladder.

"Don't," she mumbled in my ear, still dazed from the strike, "Please, don't," but I ignored her and positioned her properly so I could carry her down.

She was heavy, but I managed to get her piggyback and somehow juggle her and keep my balance as I carefully maneuvered down to our escape. By the time we touched the ground my limbs were on fire and when I finally dragged her out to her car it was night time. I propped her against the front of her car and lay down on the hood drinking in the cool night air.

"Is this because I outed you?" she asked, still a little off.

I sat up with great effort and slid down to the ground to sit next to her, " I need you to be okay."

She scoffed, "But I'm not and I never will be."

"I'm sorry I can't be your savior, but please don't give up," I was whining and feeling drained and lost.

She sobbed and tears ran streaks through the blood covering her face, "Part of me doesn't want to, but I can't fight forever."

I could easily see all the fear she'd hidden behind bold words and conflicting actions, I'd always thought of myself as a fake; a liar and a coward, but she was the same. What she let everyone see wasn't at all who she actually was.

"Don't give up, Quinn, please. You've been horrible to me, but I see how in your weird, twisted way you were trying to push me in the right direction, so please let me do the same for you. This," I waved a hand at the warehouse, "isn't the answer."

Quinn didn't look at me; she only observed the crimson stains on the front of her shirt like they held the solutions to her problems.

"I can't go home," she mumbled.

"And you won't; we'll figure something out."

She gave me an odd look before laughing that hollow laugh of hers, "Really? After everything I did in the interest of making you angry, you want to help me?"

I nodded, "I guess I'm a bigger idiot than you anticipated."

Her head thumped loudly on the car as she threw it back, "You should have let me fall. Now my life is your fault. I'm your responsibility. Can you handle that?"

"I will," I said, determined. "All I know is that if you're going to give up, you're going to have to do it on your own. I'll help you live, not die."

"What if I said I'd sleep with Brittany the next chance I get?"

"She isn't as simple as you think. She wouldn't cheat on me and especially not with you."

A bitter smile came over her face, "I know. You have no idea how hard it was to convince her you didn't care in the first place, even with you acting like an ass and leaving her without so much as a phone call."

"Are you sure you aren't gay?" I asked, "You sure go out of your way to sleep with girls."

"I wish," she said despondently. "For a while, when I first figured out you were gay, I thought maybe we could be together. It would have made my life easier to just prefer women and hate everything about guys, but apparently it doesn't work like that. I still like men. Just one more reason I know I'm totally fucked."

We sat in the dark for a while, neither of us moving, and a short ways away I could hear my phone going off in my car, but I was still too busted from our fight to go for it.

"Why did you do it? Why did you sleep with Brittany?" I finally asked.

"I figured it'd make you mad enough to stab me or something. You hear all the time about someone catching the person they love with someone else and killing that person. I figured, 'why not me?', but apparently with your abuela and all it was too much."

"It was."

"Part of my motive was getting back at you a little... I was upset that you'd ditched me for her. I know that's childish," she said before I could, "Honestly, I figured you'd talk to her way before then and find out about us. That it took you being furious with me to stumble on the truth was a little sad."

She might have been trying to make me angry again, but it was true so I only said, "Yeah."

Silence fell again before I asked, "But why? You know how much I loved her, so why do _that_?"

Her first genuine smile appeared, "I already said you two'd be together no matter what. Nothing I did was going to keep you two from ending up together."

"There's no way you could know that," I growled.

"And yet I did."

I tried to soothe the throbbing pain in my clavicle, but all it did was send shooting pains everywhere. I stopped and turned to her, "We need to get out of here. You mind if we leave your car here?"

"I kind of want it to explode into flames, so no, I don't."

I stood gingerly and pulled her to her feet before helping her into the car. I worried that she might do something like try and make us crash, but then I realized if she had it in her to do that, her whole elaborate plot wouldn't have been necessary.

"How long were you planning this?" I asked we sped away from the abandoned building.

"Not long; it was a last ditch effort," she said as she curled against the passenger side window. "It was mostly already set up, but I took a few days off school to make it perfect."

"And I messed up your plans," I sighed.

"You did."

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?" she responded sleepily.

"You really will be okay. I promise."

She gave me a look that told me she knew as well as I did there was no way I could reliably promise such a thing, but appreciated it anyway.

* * *

By the time I got home it was just late enough for my parents to be worried, and when Quinn and I limped in looking like we'd been mugged the situation escalated. I managed to lay her down in the guest room before I went back out to the living room to keep anyone from calling the police. I didn't tell them everything, only that Quinn really was having a hard time at home and she needed to stay for a while. I explained that we'd gotten into a fight, but not about it being a life or death situation, only that it had stemmed from my heartfelt efforts to make her see that her life at home was no good for her. It took some additional convincing and my father examining the both of us before they backed off making a federal case out of the issue.

When I went back to the guest room to check on her I felt a weird sense of loss, though once I sat on the edge of the bed I recognized that, even though she'd left and taken all her things, I could still smell abuela in the room.

I missed her so much.

"So now what?" Quinn asked stuffily, her nose still bleeding slightly. My dad had given her a cold compress to hold on face and she was having a hard time talking around it.

"I don't know, I guess you stay here for a while."

She scoffed, "Maybe your parents will adopt me."

"You could stay at Ms. Hall's hotel, you're still blackmailing her aren't you?"

A sly grin spread over her face, "Is this Santana The Saint Lopez telling me to use my questionable connections to get something I want?"

I rolled my eyes, "At least it's for a good cause this time. You can't go home, and if your dad dared to try and make you, just blackmail him."

"With what?"

"With the fact that he rapes his underage daughter!" I whispered fiercely in disbelief.

Her eyes left mine and went to the sheets, "I was kidding about that."

I was about to argue because she _hadn't _been kidding, sure I had a hard time telling truth from lies with her, but what she'd said was not a lie.

Then again she said she never wanted anyone to know.

She only told me because she thought one of us was going to die.

Respecting her wish I nodded, "Oh, well I'm sure you can find something. He won't bother you if you Photoshop some evidence."

"Maybe."

We were interrupted by my phone and I only answered because it was Brittany's ring tone. Since I hadn't answered any of her calls she was angry at first, worried when I explained I hadn't sent the text, then furious when I said Quinn had. It took a lot of talking to get her to calm down and let me explain the gist of the situation, but the result was her insisting she come over. When I hung up Quinn was giving me a bemused look.

"She's going to be a handful when you're living together."

"Don't even," I shot back.

With everything finally calm I was able to easily feel how angry I still was at her over what happened, so the less she spoke of Brittany the better.

A sigh left her as she rolled her neck, "I wasn't going to kill you, that wasn't the point."

"The point was to make me think you were," she looked at me again a smile on her face, "Yeah I get there eventually."

Quinn shifted the pack in her hands and set it on the nightstand, "I still don't know what to do, even if I don't go home. I really hadn't planned to be alive this long."

"Ninety percent of the seniors don't know what they want to do with their lives. You have plenty of time," when she didn't respond to that I added, "I know you aren't really into shrinks but my mom knows a lot of good ones, I'm sure there's at least one you'll like."

She growled in irritation and turned away from me, "I already told you-"

"The alternative is to live in your own head for the rest of your life. Let's try my way before you say it won't help."

A glare was my response, "And what makes you think any friend of hers would do a favor for me?"

I waved my hand, "Are you kidding? Their friends are all about helping just to help. My dad knows a cancer doctor who owes him a favor and only _heard_ that Rachel's dad was sick before he called the guy up and cashed in."

"And what does your twelve step reform plan say about relapse?"

"About you being the monster you seem intent on being? I dunno, I was just thinking I'd just kick your ass." That made her laugh and even I couldn't resist a chuckle.

"I don't know about that."

"We'll figure it out," I didn't want her poking holes in that flimsy theory so I left to make us a couple of plates of whatever mom had decided to cook for dinner.

It was unfortunately meatloaf, but I heated it up and brought some to Quinn, we ate and she was thankfully too hungry to continue to question my plans for her. I honestly had no idea what I was going to do, and part of me was still bitter, angry and wishing I'd just given her what she wanted.

When we finished I was ready to discuss options again, but that was when I heard my mom answer a knock at the door and shortly after Brittany burst in. I opened my mouth to greet her, but she blazed past me and went right up to Quinn who was just setting down her plate next to her cold pack.

"Stay away from us!" she shouted before punching Quinn in the nose.

I jumped up in alarm and yanked Brittany back before she could do more damage, her eyes were hard, unforgiving, and wouldn't come off Quinn, even when I tried to turn her face to me.

"Shhh, Britt, calm down, it's okay now," if she heard me there was no sign, "Sweetheart, look at me." When I punctuated my insistence with a kiss she finally did. "I know how you feel, but things are different now."

"How?!" she snapped.

I looked worriedly towards the door, hoping my parents wouldn't come in to see if we were fighting again. When I looked back to Quinn I saw her curled up in a ball holding her nose that was once more bleeding profusely.

"They just are, can you trust me?"

The request seemed to irritate her because she clearly wanted to, but wanted to be angry at Quinn just as much, "I can trust you," she grumbled.

I smiled and kissed her again, "I'll explain later," I said quietly in her ear. I knew Quinn wouldn't appreciate me telling her anything, but Brittany was one person that deserved the truth on the matter.

Quinn grabbed the ice pack off the night stand and pressed it to her face again, "I don't think this will ever heal correctly."

"My dad knows plastic surgeons too so it'll be fine," I said, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"Why are you here?" Brittany asked her, the stern look on her face just as unyielding as ever.

"I wanted a final quickie from Santana," she joked.

Brittany didn't laugh and neither did I, "Quinn, stop," I warned.

She sighed, "I got in some trouble and Santana's helping me out."

My girlfriend then surprised me by sitting on the bed, her features less harsh, "It's about your dad right?"

That shocked us both, Quinn was obviously caught between asking how she knew and denying the whole thing, "What about my dad?"

"I know he hurts you, I don't know how, but he does," the room was silent and she must have somehow heard our disbelief. "Whenever we talked you never mentioned him or got really mad when I tried to," she explained.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked quietly.

"It's kind of obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it, and it wasn't my place to share, especially since I only suspected. It's the same reason I didn't just tell you I knew you were gay, if you wanted to share with me you would have… I couldn't keep myself from hitting on you though."

"If you think my dad is hurting me then why punch me in the nose?" Quinn grumbled.

Her blue eyes turned to ice again, "It doesn't give you an excuse to be a bitch. What you did to Santana and me was mean, and you did it for no reason. Nothing gives you the right to do what you did, I don't care how upset you were."

Quinn nodded, "It doesn't. I was trying to convince your girlfriend here to just get rid of me, but she brought me home instead."

"Get rid of you?"

She nodded again, "It was supposed to be an act of mercy, like what you did for my baby."

Brittany looked at me then back to Quinn, "You tried to get her to kill you?" when I nodded she turned back to the chastised girl on the bed, "I fought you because you needed a fight and nothing would make you keep it. Am I wrong?"

Her response was a grudging, "No."

"Then what does that have to do with anything? You made your choice with your baby just like you made your choice about your life. If you're going to live or die there is nothing we can do to change your mind."

Quinn sat up and tossed the compress away again since it seemed to be doing nothing for her nose, "This was more about penance than anything."

"Penance?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other until I leaned over and whispered in Brittany's ear, "A way to make up for being bad."

Her eyes narrowed, "How is that penance? You want to make up for everything then say you're sorry to everyone you've hurt starting with Santana! Dying won't do anything!"

I squeezed her hand to try and get her to calm down.

"I don't see myself getting any better in the future, this is the best I could think of," she shrugged sadly, "I don't feel I'm worth much more effort than that."

"Clearly you do or you would have killed yourself a long time ago. You know you're worth more than what's happened to you," Brittany said, barely keeping her temper.

With a huff Quinn flopped back on the pillow, not caring that she got blood all over the place, "I'm tired of my subconscious being the only thing that feels that way."

"I feel that way," I said, Quinn looked over at me, as did Brittany, "If I didn't think so I would have just pushed you off the platform, if I didn't think you were more than the crazy person trying to reenact a Saw movie I wouldn't have bothered to save you."

No one moved until Brittany sighed, "And I do too, even though you made me really mad."

"That's at least two of us, two and a half if we count your subconscious," I offered quietly.

Brittany released my hand and crawled on the bed next to Quinn, "We care about you, so be someone who's earned it," before she could give a smart ass answer Brittany went on, "You won't fail, because you aren't a failure. I know your captain of your cheer team and you make better grades than Santana, even with fight club you tried your hardest even though you never planned to see it all the way through. You won't fail, I don't even think you have it in you to disappoint us if you really don't want to."

Quinn didn't say anything after that and neither did we, instead Brittany went into the bathroom to get something to help clean Quinn's face and I went to find her a change of clothes. While I was out I was able to bargain a mass weekday sleepover with my parents by abusing the somewhat loose house rules that coming home with a bloody friend had provided. Though I had to really sell how important Brittany was to Quinn's comforting process, and after that last talk it wasn't a stretch of the truth.

After I got back I'd had to go back out and find something for Brittany to sleep in, not so much because she was spending the night and would need it, but because she was jealous that Quinn got to wear my clothes while she didn't. I found it endearing and got her exactly what she wanted.

As the last to actually get ready I was the last to bed, however when I walked into the room and found Brittany laying down with Quinn fast asleep at her side I concluded that I was decidedly more jealous than Brittany had been. But she extended her hand to me and I climbed into bed behind Quinn, Brittany reached over and brushed her fingers gently across my bruised jaw. She looked at me like I was her hero, and though I didn't know why I warranted the look, I felt heroic all the same.

"She'll be okay," she said quietly, "So will we right?"

I took her hand and kissed it gently, "Better than that."

She smiled and her eyes began to droop slightly, I put my hand on hers and the warmth and light pressure made the throbbing pain go away.

In the dark I thought I'd never go to sleep with Brittany so close and my mind racing with all that had happened, but before I knew it I was just as asleep as everyone else.

* * *

The next day marked the birth of a completely different Quinn.

Mostly in that her first order of business wasn't to give me shit.

That morning I got us up and dressed for school, I'd had to lend Quinn, and a somehow still jealous Brittany, my spare Cheerios uniforms. The three of us left looking like we all belonged to the same school, and for the brief ride to Brittany's it was actually pleasant to be in the car with both of them at the same time. I worried about nothing, I wasn't afraid of Quinn even though she was just as frightening as she had always been. Nothing was different from the previous morning, yet somehow with a little bravery and trust on all our parts everything had changed.

When we arrived at the Peirce household, it turned out their daughter hadn't exactly asked if she could stay out the night and had _conveniently_ left her phone at home so they couldn't tell her otherwise, but they, like my parents, seemed eager to not upset the child they knew they'd wronged. A mild reprimand was her punishment, she didn't seem to much care as she waved to me looking damn sexy in my cheerleading outfit that was more so because it was a little small for her.

For the first time ever I drove Quinn to school, as if it were the official marker on our new era.

We were far too hurt for cheer practice, liberal amounts of makeup were all that kept everyone from seeing how painful it actually was to walk. Instead we smoked behind the school and talked about simple things, like movies we wanted to see and new bands we liked, and eventually got up to go to our morning classes.

However, before we went back inside she turned to me, placing her hands on either side of my jaw in a way that made me nervous. Her eyes met mine and she said, "Thank you, for everything."

Her intensity and proximity made me squirm, but I nodded as much as I could in her grasp, "No problem."

"Tell Brittany thank you, too, for me."

"You can tell her yourself."

She only smiled and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead that was too sudden for me to reject, and walked off.

I expected her to be weird after that moment, but I didn't see her for the rest of the day. In light of that I figured I'd see her again when it was time for her to get a ride home, but she wasn't there after school.

As a matter of fact she wasn't there ever; for the rest of the year I heard nothing from Quinn.

For the next few years.

She just vanished.

Of course rumors exploded all over the place once her family reported her missing. Some thought she'd been kidnapped, others said she'd been killed by the people she had tormented over the years. The official word was that she was dead since all the police had was a suicide note and a missing person. But on the back of that news her sister eventually stepped forward about what she believed had happened to Quinn based on what had happened while she was still living at home.

The scandal was huge, it rocked the town and shamed every person who'd ever done business with Russell Fabray. It started with a media frenzy and ended with jail time, luckily Quinn missed it all, yet once it all died down she still didn't reappear.

The only reason I didn't write her off as dead like everyone else was because Brittany was so sure she wasn't, and I'd learned to trust her instincts.

Fight club became little more than a memory without Quinn, though we were all more than aware the other branches still existed, Lauren, Tina, Brittany and I had graduated. We learned new ways to deal and it made life easier than beating each other senseless.

The oncologist my father recommended was able to buy Rachel's dad an extra year or two on the planet making her almost frantic as she planned various things for him to do before he couldn't leave the house any longer. It would have been sad if she hadn't been so happy to have more time with him. Tina learned that, instead of trying to funnel her rage over what various boys did or didn't do for her, she should learn to respect herself more and the boys would too. That nugget of wisdom came from Lauren who surprisingly gave up on wrestling after winning state and looked into being a audio technician, something she said she'd been putting off doing for a long time.

And for me personally Brittany's mere existence in my life did more for me than fight club ever could. She was there when my parents told me abuela moved back to San Juan, deciding to just tough it out rather than deal with our side of the family. I couldn't feel abandoned, not with her at my side, and I have to grudgingly admit my own parent's presence was a comfort as well.

Like my abuela her parents never really came around to actually talk to her and deal with what happened, but I was for her what she was for me. I never let her feel anything less than the most important person on the planet, because it was true.

The only other new development was my dogged determination to make friends with Mercedes. After her suicide attempt no one much bothered her and she went well out of her way to be as unnoticeable as possible. Rachel agreed with my efforts, and though we never mentioned the part we had played in the night that had gone so wrong, we invited her into our tight knit group of friends. Each and every one of us felt like we needed to earn her friendship rather than the other way around. In time she was more like the girl she had once been, but she never tried out for another singing part, no matter how we all encouraged her.

It was about that time that I found the courage to finally tell Brittany absolutely everything. I had told her about the events in the warehouse almost immediately, but I had never had a reason to tell the story of Mercedes. The truth cost me a week long silent treatment so she could fully impress upon me the displeasure she felt about my involvement in the whole thing. Though in the end we kissed and made up all while I told stories of my many efforts to build a meaningful friendship with the girl I'd helped to hurt. It also meant that the friendly banter Mercedes and I shared always had to be put on hold when my girlfriend was around since an unkind word said even as a joke earned me Brittany's frostiest glare.

The end of senior year was on us in little to no time and everyone had their plans. Mine were to move to Columbus with Brittany since moving anywhere without her was absurd. Neither of our parents believed our high school romance would survive the test of time, but little did they know that we'd survived worse. And as long as they didn't attempt to stop us, we let them have that opinion.

On graduation day I was the most excited I think I'd ever been, I sat wiggling, waiting my turn to hear my name called, and almost leapt out of my skin when it was. I felt my heart soar when I could hear Brittany's cheers for me over everyone else's, and I was silly with joy when I was finally able to kiss my girlfriend as a high school graduate. Sure I was confirming every suspicion my classmates had about me since she started showing up at school, but I couldn't have possibly cared less.

My parents congratulated me before going over to talk with Rachel's dads, Leroy Berry had made it to his daughter's graduation and was eager to tell anyone who would listen how proud he was. I waited around with Brittany for Rachel, Mercedes, Tina and Lauren to show up, I'd made other friends since, yet somehow they were the only two people in school I cared to hang around with. While we waited some Cheerios came by to throw out a 'congrats' and some couldn't resist telling me they knew 'I was a fag all along,' but none of it phased me. As a matter of fact it was Brittany who seemed upset by their rejection on my behalf, my only response to that was to kiss her again.

While we waited I spotted something off in the distance, back behind the bleachers near the woods where fight club was once held. Mercedes, was there talking with someone I recognized through feeling more than anything else. Something within me knew what I was looking at before my eyes did, and when my brain finally caught up I gasped.

It was Quinn.

Her hair was cut short and she was wearing a white blouse and a light yellow skirt that made her look far more bright and innocent than I'd ever been able to think of her.

My surprise was lost in the wave of fear I felt as I finally recalled what had happened the last time Quinn had talked with Mercedes alone. I rushed up, my heart racing, worrying that she'd concocted some super villain revenge plan that would end in everyone being electrocuted, but when she saw me she only smiled and held up a finger to keep me from exclaiming her name.

"Hi," she said softly.

I only stared back, I didn't know what to say.

She seemed to know that and only nodded to Mercedes, "I was just having a chat with Ms. Jones here. I've owed her an apology for a while now."

"Seems a bit much to come back from the dead to give it," Mercedes' tone was more wary than angry, yet anger didn't seem far away.

"It was actually that important," she replied with a light laugh, "I also wanted to say that you've always been the best singer at the school. Actually you're the best singer I've ever heard, you have more than enough beauty, talent and charisma to do whatever you want with that voice."

Once we'd become friends I'd always told her that, she never seemed to believed me, but from Quinn the words seemed to mean something different. However, like me Mercedes wasn't one to merely accept atonement, "Is that why you hounded me down and told me, with absolute certainty, the exact opposite?"

"In great part yes," she replied instantly, "I assumed you knew how great you were and would tire of my taunts and turn on me in anger."

Mercedes thought that over for a moment, "What?"

Quinn shrugged, "It's confusing, but true. Anyway I just want to tell you again how sorry I am about what happened. I can't make it up to you, but I owe it to you to try just the same."

"You're right, you can't," turning on her heel to leave she added, "Brave of you to try."

That was as close to an acceptance as Quinn was going to get and she seemed to know it. I found myself still there staring at her like a lost lamb, scared of what the wolf I'd stumbled upon might do. Her hazel eyes turned to mine and it was a comfort not to see a winged beast roaring in them.

"I missed you," she said softly.

"Where have you been?"

"Around."

Same old elusive Quinn.

"Are you back to stay?"

"No, I just wanted to see how everyone is, I have a few more apologies to pass out. Speaking of which, I'm sorry I tried to drag you down into my own personal hell. I had planned everything up until my death, so I didn't consider the fact that you likely wouldn't have been able to live with yourself if you'd killed me, even if I was the worst sort of person. I'm sorry for that and I'm sorry for everything that led up to it. I knew you'd heal, and I can see you have, but I still shouldn't have done it."

I don't know why her words made me want to hug her and cry, so to avoid making a scene I just rubbed my arm.

"Britt and I are moving to Columbus together."

"I figured you'd do something like that."

"Are you okay?" I couldn't help but asking.

"Do I look okay?"

I gave her a scrutinizing stare before answering, "Yes."

"Good, because I like to think I am."

"Quinn?" said another voice.

Brittany had found us, or more likely found me and only realized last minute who I was talking to.

That same content smile appeared on her face, "We were just talking about you."

Just like me she had no idea what to say, but settled on, "Where have you been?"

"Around," I answered for her, Quinn's smile widened and she nodded.

"You aren't going to stay are you?"

"Nope," I answered again.

Quinn reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper, "I'm just passing through town at the moment, but if you ever want to keep in touch maybe we can talk more later, when I'm more in a sharing mood."

Brittany took the paper and twirled it in her hands, "What kind of mood are you in now?"

"An apologetic one. Speaking of, I'm sorry for interfering between you two and for giving you bad advice," Brittany frowned in confusion, "I once told you that you needed to forget your parents and move on, but you can't forget them. It's not in you to forget people, you should love them as much as you can and one day they'll earn what they don't deserve. Your parents aren't mine and I let that blind me. Besides, as someone who wasn't worthy of the care she was given, I am far more in favor of second chances these days."

We were both shocked by that, she used that opportunity to turn and walk away, but Brittany found her voice, "And you've already apologized to the others?"

I knew she was thinking of Mercedes more than anyone else.

She turned as she continued to slowly walk away, "Yes, and they all agreed to forget they saw me like I hope you will."

"Who could forget you?" I laughed.

She chuckled and turned to leave for the last time.

* * *

I never did find out where she went during her time away, not even during the prolonged phone conversations Brittany and I had with her in the years after. All I knew was that she currently moved from place to place and had a job she seemed to enjoy. We never spoke of fight club, over the phone or the rare times we'd meet face to face, not even in private. It had been one of the rules after all.

Though I knew a bit about her she rarely talked about herself, but was endlessly interested in our lives and the lives of those she knew that we still kept in touch with. Though after Mercedes signed her first label there was no need for us to say anything about her. I thought she called because she just missed us, but Brittany said it was more than that. She said it was because she still needed someone who knew all about her to tell her she was alright, that she was a person who deserved to live, that she wasn't her sister. I was prone to believe that since she'd always had a better understanding of Quinn than me.

I just made sure we were always there to give her that assurance.

**END**

* * *

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me.

If you care to know when I'm up to something in the future you can follow me on tumblr (profile = info) or just pm me.


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